


Will Graham's Home For Fucked Up Omegas

by Not_You



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Sexual Situations, Collecting Strays, F/F, Fuck Or Die, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Planned Pregnancy If You Ask Margot, Queer Themes, Sexual Coercion, Unplanned Pregnancy, don't worry we're going to get the fucker, just a moment of it, mason verger was created to make hannibal look good, not by anyone who isn't a piece of shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 50,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Will is an Alpha running a therapeutic retreat/shelter/something for troubled Omegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cake And Blankets

Will never intended to be an Alpha surrogate. It's an old-fashioned and demanding profession, to say nothing of the endless circling arguments about whether or not it's essentialist and/or demeaning. But it's also really satisfying. Omegas come to him in distress, and they leave him soothed. Everyone talks about how needy Omegas are, but Will is very aware of his own needs, his burning, endless Alpha protectiveness that can always make room for one more.

Making room for one more is what Will is doing today, hauling furniture around to split the upstairs bedroom in half. At least he has Tobias to help him. Tobias is technically here for conversion therapy, but conversion therapy is fucking bullshit and Will is not letting his poor confused darling leave until he realizes that being bent is fine, and that if his family really wants him to breed they can deal with donor gametes and a same-dynamic marriage. Just as stereotypes would have it, Tobias is large and strong and has a rather dry scent. There's nothing Alpha about it, but people are fucking idiots. Will is just glad that he's up to hauling a full bookcase.

“Fuck,” Will pants, once they set their massive burden down. Tobias just smiles at him, barely sweating. Will grins at him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, rub it in.” Will is small for an Alpha, but he's long past worrying about it. Size doesn't really matter, it's about confidence.

Tobias sighs. “You really are adorable, Will. If I _could_ experience typical attraction, it seems like it should have happened by now.”

“I've told you before, there's nothing wrong with an atypical attraction.” Tobias just shrugs. “Come on,” Will says, “let's see how the boys are getting on.”

Every time anyone joins the household, Will likes to provide them with cake. It just seems sort of auspicious and welcoming, and it's not like cake is hard. Will just buys mixes and makes them with real butter to near-universal praise. In this case, he has left the task to Randall and Peter, and he smiles when he walks into the kitchen to find Peter standing with his hands behind his back, reading the directions from the package aloud in his stuttering lisp while Randall mixes the batter. Will's smile widens with how pleased he is to see his sweet boys so calm. Randall feels so much better these days, his scent softened and dried out with O-blockers. Will kind of misses the lush, sweet scent he had had on arrival, but it's a small sacrifice to make in the face of Randall's well-being.

They both turn to look at him, and Will just meets Randall's eyes for a moment, tilting his chin up as Randall gives him the slight nod that is so completely the gesture of a subordinate Alpha that someone who didn’t' know him would wear he was raised that way. Will smiles, and goes over to Peter, nuzzling his cheek and breathing in his milky-sweet scent.

“Hey.”

“H-h-hey, Will,” he says softly, fidgeting a little and giving him one of those shy smiles. Will smiles back. “You guys nearly done?” he asks, stepping back to include Randall as well.

“Yeah,” Randall says, giving him a sidelong look that's hard to interpret. Peter hands Randall the prepared pan, and he pours the batter into it, meticulously scraping the sides of the bowl.

“Is-is the room done?” Peter asks as Tobias prowls past, to collect the project's debris with his usual fussiness. “He should... he should maybe have a blanket.”

Will smiles. “He should,” he says, and Peter scampers off. He's the most senior of their current little pack, and he has a sweet, old-fashioned need to comfort everyone around him, which he fulfills by providing blankets covered in his mild, friendly scent to new arrivals. Everyone likes a new place to have some clear scent markings to help them get their bearings, but Omegas particularly benefit from friendly intradynamic scent. Will can still hardly believe that Peter even needs to be here. A TBI is no small thing, but Peter is an excellent Omega, and would make a fine mate.

A low, rumbling growl snaps Will out of his reverie, and Tobias stiffens, wrinkling his nose and edging away from Randall. The O-blockers are only the first step to a really Alpha scent, but he's got the hot, peppery note of territorial anger down already. Will is growling back before he realizes it, and Tobias presses his back to the wall, watching them with wide eyes.

“Use your words, Randall,” Will says, forcing his voice as even as he can make it.

“Don't smell like that about Peter,” he snarls, as the dogs come pouring in, whining and wagging placatingly. Randall deflates a bit, and Will smiles, his own urge to growl draining away as he scratches Winston behind the ears.

“Randall, I'm a surrogate. Peter may be lovely, but he can't be mine.”

Randall nods, flushing bright red. “I'm sorry, Will.”

“It's all right. You're in flux, anyway.” Randall's dosages won't be stabilized for months yet, and of course it makes him edgy. Will goes to him and nuzzles his cheek to show no harm done. He feels the usual stupid urge to scruff Randall, but that's not something an Alpha does to another Alpha unless they're mated, or one is the other's child. Randall sighs, and kisses Will's cheek. “Want me to make you some tea?” he asks, and Randall nods.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Tobias?”

“Please.”

A couple years ago Alana got Will into soothing herbal blends, and even if the effect is psychosomatic, it's there. He brews a large pot now, and sets the timer for the cake as it steeps and Tobias washes the dishes and Randall goes in search of canine cuddles. Will contemplates sending him upstairs to ask if Peter wants tea, but Peter comes wandering down on his own, blanket wrapped around his shoulders instead of a shirt.

“I-is is there, is there tea?” He asks, and Tobias smiles.

“You know it,” he says. “Honey?”

“Yes. Y-yes, please.” He settles down beside Will, smiling shyly and tugging the blanket a little tighter. 

Will smiles back. “Same for me, while you're at it.”

Randall comes skulking in after all three of them have begun sipping at the brew in contented silence. Looking a little sheepish but much happier, Randall pours his own cup and takes the seat next to Peter.


	2. Just An Old-Fashioned Omega

Franklyn arrives an hour late because the shuttle driver is new and gets lost, and his contrition is pathetic. He comes in babbling apologies, voice rising to the whimper used by terrified children and Omegas who are trying to get someone to take care of them. Will is pretty sure Franklyn somehow counts for both, despite being about Will's age. As the driver hauls too many bags out of the back of the van, Will goes to Franklyn and cups a hand around the back of his neck. This is beyond forward, but with an Omega in such a submissive panic, Will can't really help himself. Franklyn whimpers and goes still, his eyes full of tears as he struggles to catch his breath. Will squeezes gently, signaling with his free hand for the others to leave the room. They shuffle out reluctantly, and the driver brings the last of the bags to the porch, catches Will's eye over Franklyn's head, and quietly retreats.

“It's okay,” Will says in the silence. “Just breathe.”

“Okay,” Franklyn squeaks, and scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling and radiating that soft, aching scent, mirror pheromones like a dusting of ash and just a hint of pepper. They work even better on Will than they do on most Alphas, filling him with helpless tenderness for this silly little Omega, and he sighs, pulling Franklyn close and nuzzling his beard a little. He's chubby, and it makes him pleasantly soft and very nice to hold. Will just does that for a while. There's no rush. Franklyn's heart slows, and his scent sweetens up. It makes Will think of Merlot, and he nuzzles the other side of Franklyn's face to enjoy it.

“Think you can meet the others now?” Will murmurs, and Franklyn chuckles.

“Uh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Hey, I understand. You wanna get settled in your room first, then come back down to have some of the cake we made for you?”

“That sounds pretty good,” he says, dewy-eyed and hopeful. Will smiles, and calls Peter in. He beams at Franklyn, and unwraps the blanket from his shoulders, holding it out.

“H-here,” he says, and goes through the arduous process of handing something to someone else. Will is proud of him for bothering, even if he looks away the second their hands touch. Will can see Franklyn's confusion, but to his credit he just takes the blanket and thanks Peter, wrapping it around his neck like a scarf and then sighing, his body relaxing a little as he gives both of them a friendly smile. Peter smiles back, and leads him upstairs while Will prepares to cut the cake and Tobias and Randall come back in, curious about the new arrival. They sniff at the air for his scent, and Tobias seems deeply interested despite his best efforts to hide it.

“Mm, pretty,” Randall says, lifting his nose in that lazy, Alpha way that comes so naturally to him. “So nervous, though.”

“Really nervous,” Tobias agrees, wrinkling his nose. “You think he'll settle in okay?”

“I think he'll be fine,” Will says, plating five slices. “He's mostly here for anxiety, so as long as we're kind to him, it should ease a bit.” They both just nod, and then wait politely for Peter and Franklyn to come back down, which they do a minute later. They're holding hands like they're seven years old and it's adorable. Peter's scent has a soft glow, sweet and welcoming, and Franklyn's blends with it in a friendly way. He thanks Peter again for the blanket and then turns to thank Will for the cake with heartbreaking sincerity, sitting down at the foot of the kitchen table, in a probably only semiconscious bid to make himself lower than the others.

“It's just a mix,” Will says, handing him the first slice, “but I hope you like it. Peter and Randall were the ones who actually put it together.” He hands the rest of the slices around, always pleased to see his charges provided for. It's very soothing to have a kitchen full of Omegas eating something they enjoy.

“Thank you,” Franklyn says, looking from Peter to Randall and then to Will. “And thank you for my room.” He takes a shy look at Tobias that Will files away for later, and then sits there being determinedly bright and friendly, neurosis crackling below the surface. It threads through his scent, detracting from that wine-like sweetness but not choking the room. Franklyn has a lot of practice keeping his feelings from inconveniencing other people, and Will has to fight the urge to hug him. Really, this is the time for Will to stay back. It's no good getting in the way of a group of Omegas sniffing each other out. Soon, Randall is right beside him, with that lost look. It may not be Alpha-ish, but Will puts an arm around him and presses his cheek to Randall's for a moment.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

“Any time,” Will says, letting him go.

By Franklyn's second slice, the new order of dominance has emerged, with Franklyn on the bottom, where the new kid usually goes. He seems pathetically happy to be there, and can't entirely help a happy little squirm as everyone puts a scent mark on him in their preferred fashion. Even with the blanket, Peter nuzzles his cheek lovingly, and Tobias gives him a light lick on the jaw that leaves him looking dazed as Randall comes up to take one of Franklyn's hands between both of his own and just press it there for a moment, a very correct Alpha touch. Franklyn blinks in surprise, and then smiles sweetly up at Randall, who smiles back. Will is the last, taking Franklyn's other hand and holding it for a longer time, since he's the top Alpha here.

“I hope you'll be comfortable accepting my protection,” Will says, which is old-fashioned as hell, but goes over as well as he knew it would. Franklyn sweetens right up, blushing and looking up through his lashes at Will in a way that probably isn't even calculated.

“I will be,” he says. “I can tell.”


	3. Quiet Heat

The one thing that really does blow about being a surrogate is having a house full of Omegas and nothing in his bed but dogs. Not that dogs are nothing, but still. He sighs, putting an arm around Winston and then sitting up to sniff the air, because out of the symphony of Omega smells, Peter's milky scent is suddenly thicker, like he's right at the door. There's a rich, creamy edge on it that makes Will shudder.

“Peter?”

“Y-yeah,” he says, sounding a little sheepish. “C-c-can I, can I come in?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he says, unable to help it. Fuck it. He's a trained Alpha surrogate and he's technically clothed. Peter is more than technically clothed, wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, with one of the small blankets around his shoulders.

“S-so,” he says, climbing into bed beside Will when he turns the covers down for him, “remember, remember how my n-nature was g-gonna come back up?” Referring to heat and libido in general as 'nature' is a mountain regionalism that always makes Will a little nostalgic, and he smiles, pulling Peter into his arms, Winston resting against his back.

“I thought you smelled nice.”

“Y-yeah, I-I think I'm having a-a quiet heat.” He clings to Will, nuzzling his chest and then pushing his face under one arm and breathing in.

“You're definitely having a quiet heat,” Will says, rubbing his back, “and I'll take care of you.”

“C-can, I s-stay here tonight?” He whispers.

“Of course,” Will says, and settles in for a long night of keeping calm. 

It helps that it's just a quiet heat. He smells delectable, but not in that way that makes Will feel like he can't breathe. He's about half hard, but Peter is pressing against his leg, so at least they're even. There are entire separate rules for being a heat surrogate, and Will has never wanted to bother with the paperwork or all the goddamn feelings. He loves his Omegas, and having to keep his emotional distance, to knot them and not at least start to bond with them, is more than he could bear. Desire is a soft, nagging ache in his gut, but it's more than worth it just to have Peter in his arms, so close and so sweet. He nuzzles into Peter's hair, breathing deeply and nosing along his scar. Peter coos, cuddling even closer and drenching Will in his unique, silky scent. 

Will sighs, wondering, as he always does in these situations, how he can be so horny and so tired at the same time. He drifts down slowly, and isn't quite asleep when a wave of something hot and peppery sweeps under the door. It's the most Alpha Randall has ever smelled, and Peter whines, clinging even more tightly to Will. He sits up, keeping Peter cradled in his arms. “Come in, Randall.”

The door opens and Randall comes prowling in, stinking like about two-thirds of an angry rut. “Peter,” he growls, and Peter whines, refusing to look up because it means he'll have to stop touching Will.

“Easy, Randall,” Will says softly.

Randall bites his lip and takes a deep breath, growling despite his struggles to stop. “Will, I don't know how much longer I can listen to you.”

“I think I have a solution to this,” Will says, yawning and sitting and gathering Peter up. “Peter, darling,” he murmurs, knowing that pet names won't make Randall any calmer, but unable to help it, “do you want me to put you into Randall's arms?”

Peter makes a few feeble, abortive noises and then whispers, “Y-yes, please.”

Randall lets out a strangled whine, staring down at Peter in dumbstruck awe as Will hands him over. Randall may be small, but he's strong, and only staggers a little with Peter's weight, shuddering as Peter's arms twine around his neck. Peter sighs, and Will gets up, pulling on his discarded pants and a sweatshirt, taking another blanket out of the closet to keep Peter warm for their trip to the barn. Randall trembles and whines a little, holding Peter like he's afraid someone will take him.

“Easy,” Will murmurs, “easy, boys. I've got you.” Now that Randall is the one holding Peter, he can take comfort from the presence of a more experienced Alpha, and he lets Will herd him along to the barn with no complaints. Neither of them are in the real madness of heat or rut, but Peter is cooing softly, nuzzling his face into Randall's neck and huffing his scent as Randall struggles to walk a straight line and not just melt to the ground where he is. Will knows the feeling, and also how hyper-vigilant rut makes most people.

“I'm gonna take out the key now,” he says, before reaching into his pocket. “And now I'm gonna unlock this for you. I'm coming in to help you guys den, and then we'll ask Peter what he wants.” Leaving them completely unsupervised isn't an option, but of course his charges get to decide on the degree of closeness. Particularly Peter. There may still be an O on Randall's driver's license, but as far as Will is concerned, Peter is the Omega, and the Omega calls the shots.

“W-want to j-just be c-close,” Peter mewls, covering Randall's throat in kisses and making him gasp and shake as he struggles not to drop him.

With no horses, Will has put the barn's stalls to various uses, and the one on the end is for denning. Some Omegas are drawn to the loft, but Peter makes happy noises when they approach the stall, and Will smiles, holding the door open for Randall, prepared to catch him if he stumbles. He doesn't, though, and gets Peter safely into the huge pile of blankets and pillows, crawling in after him and wrapping around him as Will sets out little LED candles and switches off the main lights. 

Peter sighs happily in the orange-tinted darkness, and Will smiles. “Better?”

“L-lots better,” he says softly, and Randall rumbles deep in his chest.

“Do you want me in the stall, or outside of it.”

“I-in. S-sorry, Randall, b-but this isn't a regular h-heat,” he says. “W-Will has t-training.”

“What kind of Alpha would I be if I objected to that?” Randall says softly, and Will can just see him kissing Peter's cheek.

“A really bad one,” Will says, “and we all know that's not true. You just hold onto Peter while I go leave a note for the others, okay?”

“Okay,” Randall says, and Peter whimpers, a piteous little sound of exaggerated distress at Will leaving, designed to make his Alpha concentrate on him and nothing else. Will pauses just outside the stall, not leaving until he hears Randall softly telling Peter how beautiful and perfect he is, and how he would never let anyone hurt him.


	4. Household Tasks

Peter knows how Will operates, and has a plan of action in mind by the time he comes back with a thermos of cocoa. As usually happens with a quiet heat, Peter is fertile but not particularly horny. He just wants to be held and petted and fussed over a little. Randall does just that, giving him a few little nibbles and licks to let him know that he's genuinely interested. Will's job is to protect them, wrapping around Randall from behind and holding them both, letting out the mellowest pheromones he can muster as Peter laces their fingers together There are a few acid, acrid whiffs of jealousy from Randall, but mostly he smells mellow too, with that soft taste that's almost like woodsmoke.

Like any good Alpha, Randall doesn't like the idea of leaving Peter unguarded. Like a lot of OtAs near the beginning of their doses, Randall is jittery and anxious in general and an in particular about his own power and strength. Very young Alphas often have the same problem, lizard brain screaming endlessly about their not being strong enough. Randall is actually paranoid, and won't sleep at all until Will promises to stay awake, letting them take the night in two shifts.

Will nuzzles his hair and mutters, “You're a good Alpha, Randall. I know you'd do anything to keep Peter safe, but you need to sleep. Relax, I've got this.”

It takes forever to talk Randall down, and then he's stuck lying there and trying not to fall asleep for the next five hours or so. He holds out as long as he can, and manages something more like six before he finally shakes Randall awake, taking over Peter-cuddling duties while he drinks a bottle of water and eats a granola bar from the stash of nonperishables that Will keeps in here. Obnoxious as the whole mess is, it does his heart good to hear the happy little noise Peter makes in his sleep as Randall curls around him again, and it's nice to be part of a warm pile of people.

In the morning, Randall has at least calmed down enough that he just nods when Will explains that he has to go and look after the others now. Once he's sure that Randall is okay and that his scent has lost that note of hormonal paranoia, all the remaining wisps going stale, he walks back to the house, suddenly full of his own ridiculous fears about the Omegas in his care. Of course, the house smells fine. Just the dogs and sleeping Omegas and sleepy Franklyn in the kitchen with coffee. He's really cute this way, blinking those big, dark eyes and holding Will's 'Love Means COFFEE' mug in both hands, taking tiny sips of milky coffee, almost dropping it at the sight of Will.

“Easy,” Will says, going to get a cup of his own. “You're not doing anything wrong. I was just thinking how cute you looked.”

“You were?” He blushes, peeking over the rim of the mug at Will.

“I was.” He pours for himself and reloads the machine so that they'll just have to add water for a second pot. Franklyn has actually put out the lump sugar and a little jug of cream, and smiles shyly when Will sits down and takes two lumps. “I know people haven't always valued you in the way you deserve,” Will says, which is one hell of an understatement if Franklyn's file is any indication. Packed off to boarding school at the earliest possible age, suppressed as soon as possible, and generally treated like a disappointment to his all-Beta family, it's no surprise that Franklyn is such a nervous wreck. It's depressingly common, since as the Alpha and Omega birthrates keep going up, more and more all-Beta families are producing spontaneous mutations. Some of them take it better than others. “But from where I'm sitting, you're a fine Omega, and it's their loss.”

“What does that even mean, though?” Franklyn asks, so plaintive that Will wants to hug him.

He sighs. “There's a kind of softness to most Omegas, and it's a beautiful thing. It's okay to be the way you are, Franklyn. As you realize that, you'll start to figure out if you've really got a submissive nature, or if you're just afraid of rejection.”

He laugh nervously, fidgeting with his cup. “I guess. Are Peter and Randall all right?”

“Yeah. I took them to the barn. It's where people ride stuff out.”

“I didn't realize Peter was in heat,” he says, blushing again.

“It's a quiet one,” Will says, “he mostly just wants hugs, but Randall got nervous and they needed me around for moral support. Now that he's calmed down, I can start fixing breakfast, and check in with you.” He smiles. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well, thanks,” he says softly. “I like my room, and it seems like Peter will be a good roommate whenever he comes back.

“My technical capacity is six, but I've never gone over three before. Let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable.”

“So far I'm fine,” Franklyn says, and Will smiles at him.

“I'm glad to hear it.”

Once they're done with their coffee, Franklyn proves to be an eager kitchen helper. With him around Will can get bacon, eggs, _and_ pancakes. Usually he's limited to two main dishes because getting fruit cut up and ready can be so time-consuming, but today Franklyn takes care of it, and beams when Will tells him that the way he has arranged it on each of three plates is pretty.

“We have a rota for some of the housework,” Will says. “I'll get you on it after dinner.” Will does most of it because it's his house and he knows where things go, but it's good for an Omega to take some part in keeping their dwelling nice. Even the sloppiest have some nesting instinct, be it clean bathrooms in a filthy house or a functional kitchen where everything else is a mass of clutter. Chores can be traded among denizens of the house, but a certain number of things have to be done each day, and Will watches carefully to make sure no one is getting overloaded. Franklyn declares himself happy to sweep up after breakfast and completely ignorant of splitting firewood.

“Don't worry,” Will says, starting the second pot of coffee, “we'll show you how.”


	5. Responsibility

Tobias has excellent timing, as befits a musician. He proves it by prowling down the stairs just as the fresh coffee is done. Franklyn makes a little squeaky noise and almost knocks over his plate, apparently torn between leaping up to be of service, and staying as far out of the way as possible. Tobias lightly touches Franklyn's shoulder as he goes by, a little signal of good intent. Franklyn relaxes a little, and Will chuckles, loading Tobias's plate with eggs and bacon. He compliments the fruit, and Will is pretty sure that Franklyn is about to have some kind of attack over there, intensified when Will tells Tobias that Franklyn is the one responsible.

“Thank you,” Tobias says to Franklyn, and then clearly regrets it as Franklyn's heartfelt acknowledgment turns into a dissertation on the history of the strawberry in horticulture and mythology. Will actually always enjoys Franklyn's rendition of the Cherokee creation myth of the strawberry, but he has no time to listen today. Once he has gulped down his own breakfast and is reasonably sure that Tobias and Franklyn won't starve and that Tobias will continue to listen cordially without him, Will loads up a cardboard box with food and utensils and heads out to the barn.

It takes him some fumbling to get the barn door open, and when he hears Peter's helpless whimpering he runs to the stall, only relaxing when he sees that Randall is just palming him through his pants, the motion almost lazy. “I-I s-said he could,” Peter gasps, and Randall blushes but doesn't stop touching him.

“Okay,” Will says, smiling at them. “Is it too noisy for breakfast?”

“N-nah,” Peter says, blushing. “R-Randall, stop it so we can eat.”

To Randall's credit, he just gives Peter one more little squeeze, unable to resist, and then lets him go. Some of heat is totally literal, so Peter is shirtless and would probably be steaming if they were outside. He's also not very hungry, but even if his heat is getting less quiet, it's not up to normal levels, where an Omega's appetite just plummets. Peter may squirm and watch Randall a lot, but he's also happy to wrap some eggs and bacon in a pancake and devour it. Randall claims not to care about food right now and it's probably true, but he eats everything Will hands to him. Will knows how it is with rut, not wanting food but needing it.

“You guys know we need the forms if you're going to get more sexual, right?” he says. It's annoying, but of course he has to get their consent forms if they're gonna do more than paw each other through their pants.

“Right,” Peter says, as Randall rolls his eyes. “I... I think maybe we do need the forms,” he adds, his general flush deepening. Randall gives him that googly-eyed adoring gaze that Will always likes to see in a rutting Alpha, and Peter smiles shyly.

“I'm sure you're both within the legal competence threshold,” Will says, “but we have to test you anyway.”

Peter sighs. “Y-yeah.”

“Don't hurt him,” Randall growls, a wave of protective pheromones pouring off of him.

Will chuckles. “Hey, I wouldn't dare. You can stick him yourself. That way you'll know it's nothing he can't handle.”

With all parties agreed, Will waits for them to be done with breakfast, and then loads the box with detritus. The stalls are already well-supplied for running out a heat or a rut, but Will makes a mental note to bring out more food, anyway. He can't help his own instinctive impulses, with an untried subordinate Alpha and an injured Omega coupling under his protection.

“All right, boys,” he says, packing up the last of the dishes and trash, “get your shirts on and come with me.”

“Seriously?” Randall asks. Peter whines dismally even as he moves to comply.

“Seriously. It's one of the by-laws. Now that I've seen you touch Peter sexually, I can't leave you alone together until we get the forms done.” He smiles at the dismay on Randall's face. “Don't worry, it's only two pages and I can fill in most of it.”

“Okay,” Randall says, and gets his shirt back on. He's enough under control this morning to just hold Peter's hand on the way over, and Will is proud of him.

Franklyn is bustling around the kitchen when they get into the house, and he squeaks in surprise, dropping a clean glass. Tobias catches it, and smiles down at Franklyn's babble of thanks and apologies. He's such a sweet boy, and Will is glad to see Tobias being nice to him, when he can be so fucking aloof.

“It's all right, Franklyn,” Will says, as he guides Peter and Randall to sit at the table. Franklyn scurries to pour them coffee, and Will goes upstairs to the office, where he keeps all the valuables and medications. So far he has only had one client who compulsively stole, but it's just a good idea to keep things locked up so no one will even worry about it. Randall won't need another injection until the end of the month, but he needs a maintenance O-blocker tablet every day. Later in the process he'll be able to go off of it, but right now rigorous compliance to the regimen will save him from the worst mood swings, and will lower his risk for a lot of conditions later on. 

As for Peter, he is at least off of his anticonvulsant at last, but still has to take his anxiolytic and a neuroprotective. After putting each dose in the little institutional paper cup, Will carefully counts the remaining pills in a concession to his own paranoia. Of course all the doses are in order. Tobias's cello is just as it should be and Franklyn's antique pocket watch is fine, too. Giving everything in the room a last check, Will picks up a disposable test kit and a packet of the special strips for transdynamic people. They come with a chart insert to help read them, and hopefully Will will manage. He has always stocked these, but Randall will be his first time using them. 

Will scurries back downstairs, and is relieved to see Randall calmly sipping his coffee as Franklyn nuzzles Peter's cheek, a solicitous little gesture from one Omega to another. Tobias is lurking by the doorway, clearly curious about the proceedings, but reluctant to get close.

“Here,” Will says, setting the meds down in front of them. “Take those and we can get on with the blood test.”

“Does everybody have to be here?” Randall growls, and Will chuckles.

“Someone needs to witness your signatures on the forms, but yes, you can have some privacy for now. Tobias, would you walk Franklyn around the property?”

Tobias doesn't look particularly thrilled, but nods. He turns to go out, gesturing for Franklyn to follow. Franklyn trots after him like a puppy, and Will does his best not to sigh aloud.


	6. Responsibility II

Like any good Alpha, Randall submits to his blood test first. The lancet isn't very long, and a drop of blood from one fingertip is all Will needs.

“See?” he says, mixing it with test solution and then dripping it onto the strip. “That's all. It won't hurt Peter a bit.”

Randall nods, watching the little lavender strip turn dark purple. “Well?” he asks, after they watch it for another minute and the color doesn't change.

Will checks the chart, glad to see that these strips are essentially the same as the others. “It's pretty dark, but as long as it's not actually black or near enough to take a second look to be sure, you're all right.”

“And m-me?” Peter asks.

Will smiles, getting a fresh lancet and the pale green Omega test strip. “Same idea for you. We'll see how much it darkens. Randall?” 

He turns and offers him the test supplies. The gratitude on Randall's face is almost painful to look at. He takes such care finding a testing site on Peter's fingertip that Will is afraid they're going to be here all day, but at last Randall pricks Peter's finger, and takes the poor wounded digit into his mouth as he mixes the test solution. He may be rutting, but his hands are steady and his basic laboratory and machine shop know-how is serving him in good stead. He gets the correct amount of the fluid onto the strip without making a mess, and they all watch as the green deepens to a rich, vibrant shade and then stops. 

“Getting a little noisier, I see,” Will says, and Peter blushes, squirming happily in his chair.

“Y-yeah,” he says.

Will smiles, wanting to lick Peter's cheek but knowing better than to do it so close to his rutting Alpha. Peter smiles like he knows exactly what Will is thinking. “You kids behave,” Will says softly, “I'll be right back.”

“Yessir,” Peter says, grinning and taking Randall's hand. “We'll just wait right here while you get the forms.”

Will chuckles, ruffling Peter's hair and then heading back upstairs to put away the spare testing supplies and dispose of the sharps, the strips, the empty solution bottle. That done, he goes straight back downstairs with the forms, By now they're pretty streamlined, which is always a profound relief, since Will remembers the long, clunky ones from five years ago. Now all they need are the correct names and SSNs, the test results, Will's brief description of their mating plan, and someone to witness the signatures.

While Randall and Peter fill in their information, Will goes to the door and calls the dogs. They have of course gone along with Tobias and Franklyn, because any walk is a good walk, and now they come bounding for the door from around the barn. The humans soon follow, and Will is glad to see Tobias taking Franklyn's arm to keep him from obediently running up with the dogs. Will is happy to wait for them and does his best to look like it before the dogs swarm around him and he has to pay attention to them. He pets everyone and tells them what good dogs they are, and by the time he's done with that, Franklyn and Tobias are coming up the steps to join him.

“Are all their papers in order?” Tobias asks, and Will chuckles.

“Pretty much. Once you come in and witness the signatures, they'll be ready to go.” 

Franklyn blushes, and scurries inside after them. They're probably just in time, since Peter is in Randall's lap. They both look guilty when Will comes in, but he just smiles. Peter is about half-hard, but Randall is just holding him, eyes closed as he breathes in his scent.

“Okay, boys,” Will says. “Time to sign.”

“O-okay,” Peter says, squirming a little and blushing. As part of the streamlining, the language has been simplified and shortened, something Will was always in favor of. Essentially, these documents assert that the signers are in heat or rut, but are not so far in that they can't make their own decisions, and that they are happy with their current plan and that they consent to mating with the other signer. Both of them sign each form in case one gets lost, Tobias and Franklin sign as witnesses, and Will can fax the damn things to the Surrogacy Board, staple them together, and file them in his own office. 

Once all of this is done, he can finally pack up a denning box for them and lead them back to the barn. Randall insists on carrying Peter again, and it's pretty adorable. Peter coos and snuggles close, still shirtless because he's getting to the stage where clothes are really unbearable. Once they're back in the barn, Will leads the way to the stall, tucking the box into one corner and pulling out the baby monitor.

“Really?” Randall grumbles.

“Really. I know. You have to leave it on.”

“Ugh.”

“Don't worry, mine has a lock. If I listen for more than five minutes at a time or check in too often, it reports my ass to the Surrogacy Board. This is not my first goat rope.” Peter chuckles, making a soft cooing noise as Randall carefully lays him down in their nest. “I'll also be calling once a day to remind you to take your medication. There's a week's worth of it in the box, along with some more food, wet wipes, more bottled water, some soothing reading material.”

Randall smiles. “You do take such good care of us.”

“I try,” Will says. He makes a last, compulsive check of the stall to be sure they'll be comfortable and of the monitor to be sure that he will know the moment they aren't. He gives each of them a kiss on the cheek, hangs a duplicate key from a nail hammered into the beam for the purpose, and leaves the barn, locking it behind him. One of the worst parts of his job is the feeling of leaving one of his precious Omegas with someone else. He worries about every single thing, and this time is grateful that Randall is an OtA and they don't need contraception. This just leaves Will to fret over absolutely everything else. He's very glad that he's allowed to drink as long as he doesn't become impaired. Two fingers of whiskey make him feel a little _less_ impaired, and he sighs, standing by the kitchen counter and savoring the burn.


	7. Settling In

Heat and rut tend to last between three days and a week, so Will has plenty of time to get Franklyn used to the household. He's used to conventional therapy, but the job of surrogate really is mostly to be there and be caring while providing some structure. Will is a firm believer in the healing power of dogs, so there are multiple walks every day. Mild exercise is also a good thing for a lot of the conditions and anxieties his clients have anyway, and of course it's good for the dogs and their happiness is infectious.

Franklyn laughs, chasing Buster around and around a tree for moment before he has to stop, panting. Buster grins at him, and scampers closer for affection. Franklyn chuckles and crouches, scratching Buster's belly as the little dog flops onto his back. Tobias is hanging back with the rest of the pack and Will, giving Franklyn a wistful little smile that makes Will wonder if he's going to have even more matchmaking on his hands. Franklyn is pretty fucking cute right now, all bundled up against the early fall chill. His layers make him rounder than ever, and the sunlight gives his dark hair a reddish glow as he beams down at Buster, cooing babytalk to him until he notices Tobias watching him and clams up.

It's about time to go in, anyway, and Will calls Buster back to him, and by extension, Franklyn. He has almost the same look of adoring obedience on his face, and Will feels a terrible urge to bite him. It passes in a second, though, and he's able to just smile and take Franklyn's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. There's a brief whiff of the vinegar smell of a jealous Omega, but Will might be imagining it, since Tobias is perfectly calm as they approach the house. They can barely hear Peter crying out as they pass the barn, and Franklyn flushes bright red. Will just chuckles, and once they're inside, goes up to the office to check the monitor.

“So fucking beautiful,” Randall is whimpering, sounding utterly shattered, “so fucking beautiful, Peter.”

The only reply is a high-pitched, helpless moan that makes Will flush all over in the moment it takes him to find the button again.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and scrubs a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. He really needs an Omega of his own. Self-control is paramount, but he's only flesh and blood. His phone rings as he's collecting himself, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. “H-hello?” he croaks, fumbling to answer it.

“Are you all right, Will?” Alana asks, and Will chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. What's up?”

“Nothing in particular, but Mom sent me home from Sukkot with enough leftovers to kill a yak, and I figured you had more people to feed than I do.”

“True,” Will says. “Two of them are in the barn right now, but we can freeze their share.”

“He also gave me some extra kreplach, just for you.” Her mother fills the dumplings with ground turkey, and the broth is boiled from the bird's bones. Whatever he seasons it with, it's incredible, and Will is grateful all over again that when things didn't work out with him and Alana, they at least didn't explode. He hasn't lost his friend, or any of the perks that come with her acquaintance.

“Remind me to write him a thank-you note. I might forget, with four clients to look after.”

Alana laughs. “That's what happens when you admit that you have three bedrooms, each one big enough for two people.”

“Point,” Will says. “When should we expect you?”

She says that she wants to bathe first after yesterday's long drive, so he mentally budgets about two hours, which is just as well. He goes back to the kitchen to find Tobias explaining all about the vast superiority of gut strings over synthetic to Franklyn, who looks fascinated. 

Will smiles. “Hey, guys. A friend of mine is coming over with food later, can we survive another couple of hours?”

“I'll be fine,” Tobias says, and Franklyn blushes and mutters something about cheese and crackers.

“I might want in on those, too,” Will says. “We'll just see how long it takes her to show up.”

In the meantime, he gets the chores straightened out. Of course the split is different with Randall and Peter secluded. Randall usually helps Will cook for the dogs, and Peter does a lot of the laundry, folding it neatly enough to satisfy Will's obsessive need for organized drawers even though he has to do it with his eyes closed. Franklyn feels quite equal to this, though, and Tobias is willing to assist with the dog food, even if he doesn't look too thrilled about it. Will would excuse him completely, but when he has to feed people as well, he really does need some help with the dogs.

For now they just need to sweep the floors, which Franklyn feels more than equal to, and to split some more firewood, which Tobias is very good at. It's not the kind of thing his family would have encouraged him in, and as far as Will is concerned, it's just another way they fail to understand him. Tobias is a very physical person, and after a short learning period, has become just as adept with the axe as Will. The muscles ripple in his broad back as he swings, sending the wood leaping off to either side of the block, and Will smiles, pleased to see him enjoying his task. 

Franklyn is humming softly to himself as he meticulously gets all the little corners Will forgets every time he does the sweeping. He makes his way from the living room into the kitchen, where Will is finishing the breakfast dishes, and then stops, gazing out the window. At first Will thinks he's just spacing out, then starts to worry about a panic attack, and finally realizes that he's staring at Tobias.


	8. Crafternoon

By the time Alana and Applesauce arrive, Will is starting to get desperately hungry, but he forgives their dawdling because homemade kreplach. The broth is a rich, cloudy, near-white, and the little three-cornered dumplings are as delicious as ever. Will takes a moment to pat Applesauce and give her a biscuit, and then inhales a huge bowl while Alana walks Tobias and Franklyn through the other dishes. She's fairly secular herself, but grew up eating kosher and can explain everything about her mother's delicious cooking. Franklyn of course shudders to think of giving up the milk/meat combination, but he also enjoys the brisket sandwich he makes for himself. Tobias puts a little of everything on a plate, and once Alana is sure both of them are comfortable, she goes to Will, who pulls his face out of the soup long enough to thank her again.

She chuckles, giving him that fond, sad look that means, 'you need an Omega to look after you, and I don't think it can be me.' Will is getting pretty sick of that one, but she's still his friend, and he wants to keep it that way. “I'm glad to see you enjoying this batch,” she says. “I helped Mom season it.”

“You both did an excellent job,” Will says, and she chuckles.

“Thanks.” She sighs, watching Franklyn as he hangs on Tobias's every word. “I know you have your hands full, but you might end up with a colleague of mine soon.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Frederick Chilton. You remember. The annoying one.” Will does remember, and he grimaces when she goes on, “I've already given him an unofficial referral.” There's no hope that Chilton isn't really in need if Alana is that concerned, and that means that Will won't be able to turn the obnoxious bastard away. “He went through so much with Gideon,” Alana says, “and I know you could help him.”

The gory details had been all over the news, and it sickens Will to think of any Omega being cut open like that, no matter how annoying. “He has to let me help him,” Will says, “but I'm an Alpha surrogate and I have room. I'll take him if he comes.” 

“Of course you will,” Alana says, giving him that sad smile again. He turns the conversation back to the past holiday, and gets Tobias's permission to take Alana up to his room so they can see how another Omega might fit into it.

“If I had my druthers I wouldn't put him with Tobias at all,” Will says, “but Randall is an Alpha and I've just gotten Franklyn settled with Peter.”

“Since they're denning together, why not move Peter in with Randall?”

“I'll have to ask,” Will says, shrugging. “Some people want a break and others want to be close, after. We'll see.”

That reminds him to go check the monitor, listening in his office so the others won't hear. There's no sound but soft, slow breathing, like the two of them are curled up together for a nap. He listens for the full five minutes, and then switches it off with a smile, going to rejoin Alana and the others. There's just time to take the dogs for a short walk before she has to leave, and Will feels like a truly sad individual for the way he watches her play with them. He's pretty sure he actually is over her, but there's a slight ache with seeing her, and a pathetic little instinctual pull that may never go away. Even if it were much more painful than it is, Will would still appreciate her visits. She's very good for his clients, a well-adjusted and self-respecting Omega with a soothing presence. 

If it wasn't for their own emotional entanglement and Alana's practice, Will would have asked her to be his partner. Anyone who needs an Alpha surrogate benefits from the presence of a kind and level-headed Omega, and one with a degree in psychology is even better. As it is, Franklyn has perked up quite a bit by the time Alana drives away, and it does Will's heart good to see it. It seems to be having a similar effect on Tobias, making Will surer than ever that he'll have another denning pair on his hands soon. It's probably about time to remind Tobias yet again that being bent is fine, but Will decides to save it for later. Now it's time to drag Franklyn into some kind of art or craft. He sputters about having no talent, and Will just laughs.

“I don't do anything but tie flies, I'm sure you can find something.”

Franklyn's something turns out to be a hitherto-untouched origami set, and he and Will work to the strains of Tobias's cello. It's very soothing and domestic, and Will only gets up to check the monitor again, blushing at the deep groans and helpless keening that he hears. He has to take a moment to compose himself before he can go downstairs again, where he's greeted by the utterly charming sight of Tobias showing Franklyn how to hold a bow. His long, capable hand is wrapped around Franklyn's stubbier one, and both of them are fucking aglow, the room filled with the soft, mingled scent of two interested Omegas. Will sends up a silent prayer for strength and gets back to his own project, watching them out of the corner of his eye and wondering how in the hell Tobias can flirt this hard without acknowledging it.

Will is so busy wondering about Tobias and checking on Peter and Randall that he forgets what Alana said about Chilton until the man himself calls, right as Will is trying to get his teeth brushed and drag himself to bed. He curses, but answers it anyway, because it's his work cell.

“Mr. Graham?” the voice on the other end says, and Will grimaces because yeah, that's definitely Dr. Frederick Chilton.

“Speaking,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“I... I find myself in need of your services,” he says quietly, and he sounds as pompous as ever, but so helpless that Will softens a little.

“I see. When should we expect you?”

“...As a mental health professional I'm referring myself, but I still have to get a colleague's signature on a few forms. Midday tomorrow at the soonest.”

“Okay,” Will says. “With you I'll nearly be at capacity, so know that you'll be sharing a room.”

Chilton sighs. “I was afraid of that,” he says, and Will rolls his eyes.

“It's the best I can do for you,” he says, “take it or leave it.”

“I'll take it,” Chilton says. “...Thank you,” he adds, with a softer quality that reminds Will of Franklyn. It makes him want to hug the little bastard.

“You're welcome,” he says, and actually means it.


	9. An Enemy In Need

Will wakes up early, if not bright. He groans, levering himself up and sitting on the edge of the bed as the dogs all look at him with wide-eyed expectation, tails wagging.

“Yeah, yeah,” Will mutters, scratching the nearest of them behind the ears before lurching up to feed them, because that always comes first. After he gets some nutritious slop into everyone's bowls, he makes a pot of coffee and checks the clock. It isn't even eight yet, so he figures he has time to go check on Peter and Randall before he needs to feed any humans.

It's a cold morning, and Will hurries to the barn, unlocking it and stepping into the warmth. He can smell both of his charges, but it's quiet. He tiptoes up to the stall, and smiles to see them in their nest of blankets, Randall wrapped around Peter from behind. Like a good Alpha, Randall opens one eye to check out the intruder despite his exhaustion. They're a sweaty, smelly mess, and Will loves them so much he can hardly stand it.

“Use the monitor to call me when you want to come back in,” he says softly. “I'll bring you fresh clothes.”

“Kay,” Randall mumbles. “I made him take all his doses,” he adds, closing his eye again.

“I knew you would,” Will says, and returns to the house to get breakfast together for the others. He scarfs his own food down as fast as he can without feeling sick, and then goes up to make sure that another person can fit into Tobias's room without too much misery. There isn't a nice big bookcase to halve the room with, the way there is in Peter and Franklyn's room, but there's more space overall, and after Will strings clothesline across it and then drapes the line in extra sheets for the downstairs bed (which is the largest in the house,) the curtained-off compartment seems like a very pleasant place to nest. Chilton is sure to find something to bitch about no matter what, but Will doesn't want to make it easy for him.

“Are you done?” Tobias asks from the doorward side of the curtain.

“Yeah,” Will says, ducking under it to join him.

“Unlock my cello? I'd like to practice.”

“Of course,” Will says, unlocking the office to let Tobias collect his instrument and some rosin, and locks it behind them again, music and music stand in the other hand. He helps Tobias get set up, and then goes downstairs to the accompaniment of a perfect set of scales to find Franklyn puttering around putting things into and out of order, the kind of non-productive cleaning a lot of Omegas do when they're really nervous. He jumps and yelps at the sight of Will, knocking a book to the floor and looking hideously guilty when it startles the dogs.

Will chuckles, going over and casually scruffing him. “It's all right, Franklyn. No harm done.” His neck is soft and very warm in Will's hand, and he quiets immediately. Will grimaces at the slight uptick of his own Alpha musk that he can smell, and Franklyn blushes, looking up through his lashes in a way that makes Will remind himself yet again to spend some quality time with an Omega he's not treating. He ruffles Franklyn's hair. “You're a sweet boy, and you don't need to worry.”

“Thanks,” he says softly, and then they both tense and almost jump as the doorbell rings. 

Will chuckles and pats Franklyn's shoulder. “It's all right. Go get the blanket from Peter's bed, he'd want him to have it.” Franklyn nods and trots off as Will goes to answer the door. Through the peephole he sees Chilton standing on the doorstep. He looks like shit, pale and too thin, with dark circles under big, lost eyes. He's standing ramrod straight despite the cane in his hand. He's also trying to puff up the way he usually does, and it's just not working for him. 

Will opens the door and smiles down at him. “Good morning, Dr. Chilton.”

“Is it still morning?” he asks, and Will fights back an urge to hug him. Chilton does not need unsolicited physical contact with an Alpha for oh, probably the next month, at least.

“It is,” he says, ushering him into the house. Franklyn reappears, blanket in hand. “This is Franklyn,” Will says as Chilton sets down his bag and hangs up his coat. “The blanket is Peter's. He gives one to everybody, but he's denning right now.”

“...Congratulations,” Chilton says, and then, “thank you,” as Franklyn helps him drape it around his shoulders.

Before Will can ask if Chilton has eaten today, Franklyn beats him to it, and getting a negative answer, takes him to the kitchen to rectify the situation. There's a second bag in the car, because Chilton is that kind of guy, and Will asks and is granted permission to dig in his jacket for the car keys and go out and fetch it. He makes a detour to the barn, just cracking the door for a moment and then shutting it again at the sound of low moans from inside. With his denning pair still winding down, Will heads back inside, lugging Chilton's oversized suitcase.

Music reverberates through the house as Franklyn gushes to Chilton about how cool Tobias is. It's a little embarrassing but mostly endearing, and luckily for his own well-being, Chilton seems to feel the same way. He may be an Omega in need, but he's also an asshole, and Will can't let him bully Franklyn. Of course, it's hard to bully anyone when you're stuffing your face with oatmeal and fresh blueberries, and only a fool irritates the person who knows where the brown sugar is.

Franklyn beams at Chilton, always pleased to see someone get a good meal, and bounces up to help Will haul the bags upstairs. Will chuckles and thanks him, leading the way. They maneuver past Tobias, who keeps playing, and set Chilton's bags at the foot of his bed. There's a large closet that Tobias is only using half of, and hopefully Chilton can cram himself into the remainder.

“If he wants a nap or some solitude I can move downstairs,” Tobias says, bow still moving, and Will chuckles.

“I'll ask him.”


	10. Settling In II

Chilton does find a few ways to be a pain in the ass, but Will can tell that his heart isn't really in it. He complains about walking the dogs after he finishes his breakfast, but does it while putting his coat on over Peter's blanket and fetching his cane. He doesn't even mention solitude or a nap, and seems more touched than irritated when Franklyn asks if he'll be all right. 

“I will probably only need it on the return journey,” Chilton says, “but thank you. I may need your arm over rough terrain.”

Will's stomach twists. He remembers Frederick Chilton as a prickly little bastard with a bad case of Short Man's Disease, and to hear him speaking so nicely to Franklyn means that he's either constantly miserable or even more beaten than he looks. He may be a pain in the ass, but Will wouldn't be an Alpha surrogate if both of those contingencies didn't depress him.

“We'll be taking a flat path,” he says as Tobias comes downstairs with a slightly martyred look on his face. Tobias hates the cold like a cat hates rain, but it's a chilly October and the walk must go on. He bundles up and then nods to Frederick, who puffs up just a little, reminding Will of his usual self. “This is Tobias Budge. Tobias, Frederick Chilton.”

Despite some vinegary puffs of animosity between them, they manage to confine themselves to a little sniping match about their respective grad schools, and Franklyn heads it off before Will can, ranging ahead and then calling Tobias to look at some animal tracks. If he actually wanted to know what they were he'd have called Will, who mentally applauds his strategy and asks Frederick about his time as a student, channeling him over to Memory Lane instead of Insecurity Street, which seems to be where the poor guy lives.

Because of the interplay of muscle in the human frame, Chilton needs help over the one major tree root on a path otherwise good enough for the ADA. Will almost reaches for him, but stops himself as Franklyn comes trotting back. The suppressed gratitude on Chilton's face is heartbreaking, and he leans into Franklyn for a while beyond the obstacle, throwing a nervous little glance back at Will that makes him glad he didn't forget and touch him.

Chilton does need his cane for the very last portion, but limps up the steps as quickly as the rest of them walk. Getting his left leg from riser to riser is a practiced little full-body movement that doesn't seem to cost him much, since he still has the energy to complain about being expected to find some kind of craft or activity when they get inside. He also bitches about the dog hair everywhere, but actions speak louder than words, and after Tobias stalks back upstairs to get back to his cello, he pets the dogs and wanders over to the downstairs book case, examining the selection before plucking down The Hobbit and sinking into the biggest armchair. Will prefers to see a more social activity, but he also has the sense not to push on the first day.

Really, he has nothing to worry about. Between chapters of his book and fretful adjustments of the blanket around his shoulders, Frederick helps Franklyn learn a few new folds, little jumping frogs and paper balloons joining cups, helmets, hearts, butterflies, and flowers. Franklyn is delighted to have the help, and apparently in awe of Chilton's ability to fold a crane. To be fair, he does it quickly and with laser precision. It actually is a neat little display of talent.

This entire crafternoon has Tobias's playing for a soundtrack, because he's in the zone (or a jealous snit) and there's no reason to disturb him. Sometimes Will makes him go the barn if he's going to work on the same thing over and over, or on those very difficult high-pitched passages that are just clever without actually sounding good, but today he's running through a repertoire of the kind of soothing classical stuff that Franklyn likes, and it's very pleasant. Besides, the barn still isn't an option. He comes to a stopping point on his current lure and steps onto the porch to check the monitor. It buzzes before he can switch it to 'listen,' and he hears Peter, loud and clear.

“--s on, Randall.”

“It's on now,” Randall says in the background, and Will laughs.

“You boys ready to come back?”

“W-well, we f-feel like calling you,” Peter points out. “Don't, don't expect us until dinner p-probably, but I d-don't think we're spending another night out here.”

Will smiles. “And there's a new resident for you to meet.”

“Really? D-did you give, give them my blanket?”

“I did,” Will says. “I think it's helping him settle in.”

He can hear Peter's smile. “Good. We're, uh..” he lets out a delicate little cough, “we're gonna be busy for a while longer.”

Will chuckles. “That's okay. Take your time.” They acknowledge and sign off, and Will goes back inside to find Franklyn and Frederick going over his options for lunch.

“I know I neglected to write up a file for you,” Frederick says, “but with my _condition_ , I need a low-protein diet.”

Everyone is still eating Sukkot leftovers, but most of those are pretty meaty. There's most of a container of tabbouleh, though, and along with a sandwich made of the last of the watercress, Frederick is fed. Franklyn uses the last of the brisket that they've agreed to eat without Peter and Randall to make sandwiches for everyone else, and thankfully Tobias comes down to collect his before Will has to go up and get him. He and Chilton glare at each other a little bit, but with Franklyn and Will running interference, everyone survives. Will is pretty sure they're going to have to a goddamn house meeting over this, and he's not looking forward to it. 

Poor Franklyn just looks like he wishes his friends could be friends, while Tobias looks over his head to give Frederick the kind of 'stay away from my Omega' glare that makes people think he's an Alpha. Will does his best not to groan, and is profoundly relieved to put everybody to work after the meal. Tobias goes outside to chop wood like he has some kind of grudge against it, while Franklyn does the dishes and Frederick helps Will sort and fold the laundry. He has a long-suffering look on his face but doesn't actually complain, which just makes Will worry about him.


	11. Tobias And Frederick Are Not Friends

By dinner, Will is reasonably sure that he can leave Frederick with Tobias for one night without actual disaster, but that a week might be pushing it. They glare at each other across the dish of mashed potatoes, but Frederick seems to have twigged to the central issue of jealousy, so when Franklyn asks for someone to please pass them to him, Frederick lets Tobias practically lunge for the dish to do so, even if he's technically closer. He glances to Will, who gives him the tiniest nod. Frederick rolls his eyes, and goes back to his plate as Tobias makes sure that Franklyn has access to the gravy whenever he wants it, in a very Alpha-ish way. It's a truly ridiculous display and Will really hopes that Tobias's denial cracks soon, because this shit got ludicrous a while ago and shows no signs of slowing down.

Just as Will is contemplating how best to put everything away, the door cracks open and the dogs rush to greet Randall and Peter, wagging and collecting headpats. “A-are we late for dinner?” Peter asks, looking at the table as he keeps stroking the dogs.

“Yes,” Will says, “but not too late. Want us to heat up your share of the brisket?”

They do want their share of the brisket, and settle at the table while Will shows Randall where it is so he can prepare it himself. Thankfully, he trusts Will enough to let him at least put together the side dishes. He tries not to roll his eyes too much, poor Randall is ball of hormones and related feelings of inadequacy. Franklyn, bless him, knows just how to approach. He sits down beside Peter and shyly asks him how he's doing, and then introduces Frederick, who seems to be having some kind of malfunction. He's having it quietly, at least, and thanks Peter politely for the blanket and the welcoming spirit that motivated it. He just nods to Randall in a very leery way, and sticks close to Franklyn. Will can smell vinegar, and the look he gives Tobias over their heads must be vicious, because Tobias keeps his mouth shut and drifts out of the room, even though it's Franklyn's turn to do the dinner dishes and he'd probably prefer to hang around the kitchen.

Like a good Alpha, Randall has to be relentlessly bullied into eating his share. The instinct is to feed up a possibly-pregnant mate who hasn't eaten much lately, but there is no way in hell Peter is pregnant, and Randall hasn't been eating, either. Will makes it his mission to make Randall take up some calories of his own, and is even sort of successful. Peter of course ends up in a food coma, sprawled out on the couch. He smiles over at Frederick, who's sitting in the armchair and carefully examining his nails.

“You... you e-ever paint yours?” he asks, and Frederick glances up, smiling back in a small, unbearably genuine way.

“Not much, these days. What about you?”

Peter taps his scar with one forefinger, beaming as Randall comes to sit on the floor by the couch. Frederick tenses a little, but doesn't say anything as Peter says, “E-ever since this, it's r-real hard to do.”

“...I could help you,” Frederick says, with a nervous glance down at Randall.

“Randall w-won't hurt, hurt you,” Peter says, stroking Randall's hair. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, looking remarkably non-threatening even by his usual unobtrusive standards.

“...I have just had some difficult experiences lately,” Frederick says, and Will wants to scruff him and hug him and promise him that no one will ever hurt him again. It gives him some kind of mental vertigo, because this is Dr. fucking Frederick fucking Chilton, world's leading asshole. It's really weird to feel this way about him, but it's also a good sign for their therapeutic relationship. Some surrogates are very removed, but Will loves all of his charges. It just seems to work better this way. Once he's reasonably sure Randall's presence won't panic Frederick, he goes upstairs to find Tobias.

Will wishes he were surprised to find Tobias sitting in the dark and playing some quiet, broody pizzicato thing. He knocks on the door and there's a brief pause. Tobias tells him to come in, and then starts playing again as Will closes the door behind himself and studies him.

“Okay, Tobias. I would ask if you want to talk about it, but at this point I don't really care. You will talk about it.”

Tobias growls low in his throat. “I'm not allowed to dislike Dr. Frederick Chilton?”

Will growls right back, deeper and louder and backed up by an Alpha trying to keep his pack in order. Tobias feels it, even if his sidelong glare doesn't want to admit it. “You're not allowed to be a massive pain in my ass, Tobias. I'll move him, but you have to get over this.” He also needs to admit that he's panting for Franklyn, but that seems as far away as ever. “I don't suppose you could possibly just tell me what's bothering you about him.”

“...I don't like the way he smells,” Tobias grumbles, refusing to elaborate.

Will groans. “If you bother him at all tonight, so fucking help me...”

“I won't,” Tobias snaps. “I'm an adult, and I can act like one.”

Will leaves, not sure if that's really true. As it is he has to make sure that Chilton can limp up the stairs without too much trouble, which he can, and that he still has Peter's blanket, which he does. Will puts a fresh one on Peter's bed, and assures Randall that yes, they can talk about rooming together tomorrow. For now Will just wants everyone to go to bed so he can. He feels more like a mother than like an adult supervising a therapeutic household, and by the time he brings Frederick a cup of tea and some books from the living room, and Tobias is done with his elaborate skin care regimen, and Randall has promised to at least try to sleep without his Omega in the same room, Will can _finally_ collapse into his own bed, Winston curling up beside him. 

Will chuckles, and ruffles his fur. “'Night, Winston.”


	12. Emergency

Will wakes up to the sharp, high tone of his work phone. It's designed to wake him up instantly, because calls to that number are always important, and at three in the morning it tends to be a matter of life or death. He grabs the phone before it can shrill out again, glimpsing the number of the hospital the Omega Crisis Center uses.

“Will Graham, licensed Alpha surrogate,” he croaks. “What's wrong?”

“We need all possible responders for an emergency breeding,” the woman on the other end says, and Will's blood turns to ice as he listens to that calm, professional Beta voice and all the strain underneath it. He knows what he's going to do. As a surrogate he has insurance for this kind of thing, but no one is ever expecting to need it. “She's loaded up with so much HI-96 I don't know how the hell she's rejecting anyone,” the woman says, “but she can't even speak and won't take an Alpha. No one has the right scent and we're running out of qualified people.”

“I can be there in twenty minutes,” Will tells her, leaping up and scrambling into his clothes.

“Thank you,” she says, sounding on the verge of tears, and hangs up.

Emergency breedings are always terrible, but hardly ever happen. It's also mercifully rare that a compatible Alpha can't be found, leaving a choice between death and medical rape on top of the situational coercion, but it does happen, and if Will were a praying man, he would pray for this poor Omega, dosed with HI-96, a drug Will would be happy to launch into the sun. HI is just Hormonal Increaser, initials left over from a very old fertility study that had done a lot of good for childless Omegas around the world. The various numbered compounds are designer drugs that make the user (or victim) anything from giggly and tactile to near-insensible with heat. 

HI-96 is the only one that kills. It has been around for just the past decade or so, and the serum to counteract it is still experimental. As-is, the near-fever that comes with a healthy heat will just get higher and higher. Alpha pheromones slow it down, but zygotic implantation is still the only sure way to stop it. Will entertains a fantasy of finding the inventor and slowly roasting them to death. He's usually alarmed by thoughts like this, but today he figures most Alphas would feel the same.

Due to the delicate feelings of Alphas, Will has to wake Randall up before Peter. Otherwise he would just be some bastard in Peter's room at night, and would have to deal with Randall's efforts to bite his face off. As it is Randall gently rocks Peter awake, and then they both listen in utter horror as Will explains the situation. It's especially hard for Randall to hear. Even if he was cisdynamic, his papers aren't in order, but it's always hard to know an Omega is in trouble and not be able to help them.

“I'll look after the h-house, Will,” Peter says.

“Don't let Tobias bully Frederick,” Will says, and then pauses. “Or the other way around.” He sighs. “I'll probably be back by the time they're awake, anyway.”

“And if you're not?” Randall asks.

Will shrugs. “If I'm not, my old boss's wife is a retired surrogate and my legal proxy for this kind of thing. You'll like her.”

The both nod, and after a few last-minute notes and a reminder to feed the dogs, Will charges off into the night, trying to remember where all the speed traps are. The drive feels eternal, and Will can't bear to listen to the radio. He grinds his teeth at stoplights and can smell his own musk filling the car by the time he arrives at the hospital. It trails behind him, a powerful, black-pepper-and-civet cloud of raw Alpha desperation. He turns heads at the counter and on his way to Reproductive Isolation, and hardly notices. He makes sure his red Qualified Alpha pass is visible, and makes his way to room 102A.

Security officers are standing watch, but Will wouldn't need to see them to know. He can smell drugged heat all over the hall, enticing and wrong and just a little bit sickly-sweet. He shivers, and presents his pass, his driver's license, and his Bureau identification card. There are two nurses standing by, patching up a miserable-looking Alpha's scratched face. Sometimes an Omega's rejection gets pretty violent.

There's a tiny airlock in rooms like this, and Will steps into one with a weary-looking Omega nurse. “Hey,” he says. He sounds like Will feels, and there's an unhealthy grey tone to his midnight skin. This jangled on this little sleep, Will feels a ridiculous urge to pull this stranger into his lap and let him nap for a while. Neither of them can afford that, of course, and Will listens like a real person as the nurse introduces himself as Charles and gives him the basics. That her name is Margot, and she does not suffer fools.

“She managed to resist and run from whoever gave her this,” he says. “Girl's got spirit.”

“I have always liked that in an Omega,” Will says, pulling his flannel off and tying it around his waist, the better to disperse his scent. “You've been able to keep her hydrated, right?”

“Not too dehydrated, which I hear is pretty good for this shit. You ready?”

“Close enough for government work,” Will says, and Charles snickers, too exhausted to not take a laugh where he can get one.

“Okay, I've got an observation window, but of course as soon as I can tell which way things are going, I'll stop watching. And then someone else will come in and not watch. Knock on the door if you need help.”

Will nods, and reels as Charles opens the door. The artificially amplified heat of the woman inside is so strong that it makes him feel sick. She's wearing a hospital gown, sized properly and tied neatly to give her whatever modicum of dignity they can. She has a fair amount of her own. Margot isn't presenting or clawing at the walls or frantically fucking her own fingers. She's dripping slightly onto the floor, but maintains her wary crouch against the opposite wall. After a glance to take in her sharp features and worn, wild-eyed beauty, Will drops his gaze to the floor and slowly kneels, his open hands at his sides. She's the one in danger, but he feels like a sacrifice.


	13. Emergency II

The silence stretches out, and then Margot lets out that encouraging little Omega growl that has just a bit of a lilting whine in it. Will crawls to her, moving as slowly and as smoothly as he can, eyes on the floor. Up close the smell of her heat has gone past sickening and into compelling again, and Will tries not to moan, feeling his heartbeat everywhere.

“Margot,” he whispers, risking a glance up, “I'm here to help you.” 

She glares down at him and he does his best not to whimper. His mind is screaming for him to ignore his instincts, but this is not a situation for thinking too much. He rolls onto his back, tipping his chin up to expose his throat and pushing his undershirt up with one hand. He's already half-hard, unable to help it in the presence of pheromones this strong. Besides, Margot has a nice heat. It's almost floral, sweet and rare and the chemical note of the drug is just another disgusting insult. He whines and wriggles a little, doing his best to be nonthreatening. She puts her tiny hand on his throat and Will quivers. When Margot walks her fingertips up over his chin and onto his lips, he opens for her, trying not to moan as she strokes his tongue and then pushes almost far enough back to gag him.

She just plays with him like that for a long moment, and then it's like a dam breaks. She tears the undershirt from his body and then gets to work on his jeans, making ferocious noises of irritation. Will wriggles out of them and out of his briefs as fast as he can, reminding himself that he doesn't need to take his tablets or find a condom, that this is the point, and then Margot is on him, slamming him onto his back and taking him up to the knot in one rough slide. Will can't help a hoarse shout, but Margot just smiles down at him as he tries to cover his mouth. He can't help smiling back, and then groaning as she rocks on his shaft, grinding down onto the top of his knot without taking it. She's tight and unbearably hot with her artificial fever. It really does feel wrong, but not wrong enough to make Will go soft, especially when he has a beautiful Omega above him, groping her tits and letting out those rhythmic cries with their sweet edge of relief. 

Will loves hearing that sound, knowing that his Omega is starting to be satisfied. He can't help but think of Alana. Her scent is similar, smoke-and-roses so thick that Will had almost felt it, a mist settling onto his skin. A year ago she had invited him to work her through her heat, just hands and toys and mouth, dizzy with her scent and drowning in her slick. Afterward her assurances that they were still friends had been nearly desperate, and despite a few remarks about needing to find a steady heat partner, Will has known better than to offer. Now he almost hallucinates Alana above him, and it's all he can do not to scream her name when Margot finally growls and takes all of him, clamping down hard on his knot and contracting around him in those slow, hard waves that milk his knot and leave him a helpless mess beneath her. 

He's touched when Margot opts to rest on his chest like they're a real couple tied by choice, rather than turning to be perpendicular to him, or to put her head by his feet. He sighs, and puts his arms around her, glad to feel her a little cooler already.

“Is that better?” he asks softly, and she nods.

“Yeah.” They both flinch when a hatch opens in the wall, but it's essentially just a drawer, with bottled water, blankets, and pillows. They have to roll to it and they're laughing by the time they reach their goal. Will is delighted to see her capable of laughter, and sighs happily when they're comfortably positioned again, Margot guzzling water. Will rubs her back, unable to keep himself from gently telling her how well she's doing and how determined he is to take care of her.

“You're sweet,” she says, after almost a quart of water has disappeared. “What's your name?”

He chuckles. “Will Graham. Pleased to meet you.” She seems remarkably calm and happy for someone dosed on HI-96, and he studies her face, trying to figure it out.

“I don't mind being knocked up,” she says, answering his thoughts. “I was going to breed anyway, I just wanted it on my terms. This almost is.”

They don't have time for much more conversation after that. Margot is really only half-lucid, still so hot and driven. For once Will is glad that he's hard to satisfy for his age and can knot three times a day when he isn't rutting, because it gives him a fighting chance to catch up. He can't call home until ten, and that's only because Margot is napping while they're tied. It's a surreal experience to make a phone call with an Omega wrapped around his knot, but now that he has a second to think, he's worried about all of them. At least the shift nurse had been able to tell him that the hospital had called Bella as soon as they knew he'd need her, but he's still tense.

“Hello, Will,” Bella says. “We just got in from walking the dogs, Tobias is behaving, and Franklyn is teaching Frederick how to make cheesecake.”

Will laughs, quietly, so he won't wake Margot. “Thanks, Bella. Are the rooming arrangements working out?”

“Tobias and Frederick have managed to not kill each other, if that's what you're asking. Franklyn has also offered to share the larger room with Frederick if Peter moves in with Randall.”

“Good.”

“Are you okay? I know you're taking care of your partner.”

Will smiles down at Margot, who looks so much softer in her sleep. “She's doing better, so I am, too.”


	14. Emergency III/Home Again

It will take a week or less to be sure of a successful implantation, every other phase of the process accelerated by the drug. Margot sleeps more as Will's pheromones help balance her system, and after the usual three days of heat, she's calm enough to eat a few granola bars and even to have real conversations while she and Will lie on the padded floor, tied. She prefers Omegas, which was part of why she was so difficult to match. She also knows who gave her the HI-96 and why, but doesn't want to talk about it in the middle of fucking and can't legally testify to anything until her fever goes down, anyway.

Will settles into his role as stud more easily than he would have thought. It's pretty mind-numbing and he worries about his clients and his dogs, but Margot takes a lot of attention and energy, and his bond with Bella is such that his lizard brain knows that his poor sweet helpless Omegas are taken care of. Never mind that they're adults and can look after themselves for a week or that he offers an almost completely unstructured program; if it weren't for Bella, he would be panicking in the interludes where he can think straight.

He tells Margot about Bella, since it's a relatively neutral topic, and it passes their lucid time. “You'd like her,” Will says, dabbing at Margot's sweat with a moist towelette. “She's a bent Alpha and takes absolutely no shit from anyone.” He pauses. “Well, some from her mate, but that's in the job description.”

Margot chuckles, murmuring her thanks for the wipe-down and adding, “I'm surprised you don't have one of your own.”

Will snorts. “Now you sound like my dad, and we're getting into a whole weird area.” Margot bursts into true, bright laughter, and it's beautiful. “Besides,” Will says, “my house is full of dogs and clients.”

“Too full for me?” she asks, and Will strokes her hair, touched and of course wanting to promise her succor. He can't lie, though.

“I do still have one spot open,” he says, “but it could fill in the time it would take you to get through the red tape. If you still feel the same later and I have the space and they'll let me, yes. And whatever the legal conditions, you're personally welcome.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, and kisses his cheek. He can't help a pleased little growl at that, since it's the first time. She chuckles. “Don't let it go to your head,” she says, and carefully pulls off of their loosening tie, making Will hiss and whimper, his knot feeling raw from overuse.

On the morning of the sixth day, Will wakes to the sound of Margot's quiet weeping. He sits up instantly, tensed and ready to destroy anything or anyone hurting an Omega in his care. And then it registers that Charles is sitting with his arm around Margot, and that the tears are happy, relieved ones.

“It took,” Charles says. “We just got the test back.”

Will smiles. “Margot's safe?”

“I am,” she says, and Will wraps the blanket around his waist, crawling over to put a gentle hand on the back of her neck.

“Good,” he says softly, and she smiles.

Because Will isn't her real mate he's supposed to go and get back to his life while she makes her statement and figures out what she's going to do. Many Omegas in this situation choose abortion, but the way Margot talked, a baby was already the plan before she was drugged, so Will is probably actually going to be someone's father and he has to pull over on the drive home and have something that's probably a panic attack. He really wishes he had any of the dogs with him, even Sandy, who's totally unsympathetic and would just take advantage of his indisposition to snuffle around for treats. At last Will collects himself and makes the rest of the drive, reaching his destination a little after noon.

It seems like eons since Will has been home, and he crouches in the driveway to greet the dogs at their level when Bella opens the door, letting them swarm around him, wagging and frisking and letting out little yelps of utter delight. He grins up at Bella where she's standing on the porch, and she smiles back, leaning on the railing. She has been in remission a bit over a year now, but is still a little weak. Her hair is back in all its glory, though, and her skin is regaining its old radiance.

“Thank you so much,” Will says, still petting the dogs. “I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been able to call you.”

“I'm just glad I felt well enough to be any use,” she says. “I've invited Jack to join us for dinner,” she adds. “You're not feeling any kind of territorial way, are you?”

“With you two? Very seldom,” Wills says, getting up and going to join her. “So, how are the children?”

She makes a small noise of amusement. “Tobias and Randall are at loose ends while the others have a spa day.”

Leading the dogs back into the house, Will finds Frederick painting Peter's fingernails while they give Franklyn advice on how to do his own. It's a good thing they've put newspaper down, because he's making a complete mess of it.

“Honestly, Franklyn,” Frederick says, “your parents never made you make a pinewood derby car or anything?”

“They did and I was awful at it,” he says, sighing and dabbing up some errant polish. It's a beautiful shade of red, even if he can't apply it worth a damn. He beams when he catches sight of Will. “Hi! How are you?”

“...All right, I think,” he says, and smiles. He greets the others, passing them to check in with Randall and Tobias, who are assembling a remote control car and washing the lunch dishes, respectively. By the time Will has fixed a plate for himself, Randall has abandoned his project to show Franklyn how to apply polish properly. At least he's taken, so Will doesn't have to bathe in the reek of jealousy while he's trying to eat.


	15. Emergency IV/The Beneficial Effects Of Breakfast

It does Tobias a lot of good to see a same-dynamic couple in action. Will has to assume that this was all Bella's plan, and when he catches her eye during dinner, he can tell that it was. She and Jack have a certain poise, born of having weathered decades of storms together. Tobias is too well-bred to stare as much as he obviously wants to, but he takes advantage of the opportunities that arise.

Everyone always wonders who's dominant in a pair of Alphas, as if the whole thing is set in stone and no Omega has ever been in charge. As far as Will can tell, Bella makes all the peacetime decisions and Jack takes over in a crisis, such as a time some Alphas had tried to bash them and all ended up with multiple fractures for their trouble. Jack is ferocious, and the only Alpha allowed to scruff Will besides his father. Bella has a softer touch, but a very similar aura of command, and Will can feel Tobias watching the give and take between them. Franklyn is practically glowing just because they're both reasonably kind to him, and Frederick looks a little wary, but isn't actually fleeing. 

Randall is of course busy trying to shove every piece of food in the county down Peter's throat, and Will has a strange flicker of an agonizing pull toward Margot, wherever she is. He takes a deep breath and gets up before anyone can scent the longing on him, going up to the office to make a quiet call to the hospital.

A brisk, businesslike male Beta answers, and Will is relieved by how much information he has to give. They want his full name, his SSN, and his Surrogacy Identification Number before they'll let him talk to Margot, but finally she's there.

“Will?” she asks, and there's a soft, fragile little note to her voice that makes him want to jump out of the window and run the whole way there.

“Yeah,” he says instead. “How are you?”

“All right,” she says. “They're making sure everything is in order, and they took my statement.” She sighs. “Knowing Mason he'll find a way out of this.”

“I don't see how,” Will says, struggling to keep his voice even.

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. “Either way, do I still have a spot with you?”

“I... I don't want to get too hormonal or anything, but I really would feel better if you were nearby.”

“So would I,” she says. “I may be bent, but you're still my Alpha.”

They talk for a while longer about their immediate future and about Will's house and about whether or not it's feasible to fix up the barn enough to actually keep a horse in it. By the time Will wanders downstairs again, he feels a little bit better. Dessert is Frederick's second successful attempt at a cheesecake, and it's not bad at all. Tobias of course won't eat any because he doesn't eat dairy, and has some of the fruit topping by itself, lurking by the fire and not stinking too badly of vinegar. Franklyn is resigned to his friend's diet, and basks in Jack's praise of the topping and Frederick's of his teaching. The vibe is incredibly cozy and domestic, and Will just finds a place to bask in it. Franklyn brings him a piece of cake, and blushes happily when Will smiles up at him. Tobias's jealousy practically burns his nostrils, and Will snorts, pretending it was a sneeze and making a note to talk to Tobias later. Franklyn sniffs the air, looking confused, and Will makes a mental note to check his file for actual olfactory deficiency.

Later, after Bella and Jack are safely out the door with leftovers and heartfelt thanks and the promise of fresh fish, Will puts another log on the fire and curls up on top of his bed. He feels melancholy and exhausted, and he must be reeking of it, because everyone is quiet and subdued, filtering upstairs to bed much earlier than usual, each of them stopping by to bid him an affectionate goodnight; even Tobias, busy fretting about Franklyn and Frederick.

Once he's alone, Will hugs a pillow and firmly reminds himself not to get weepy. Everything is fine. Everyone is fine. Winston hops up onto the bed and worms his way in under Will's arm. Will hugs him tightly, and cries as quietly as possible. Winston licks at his tears and wags, so encouraging that it makes him laugh.

“Just bein' hormonal, Winston. It's okay.” 

Winston thumps his tail against the bedspread, and follows Will into a dream of walking a lonesome highway that gradually turns into a bridge over a chasm and then all imagery is overpowered by the scent of bacon. 

He can hear Franklyn and Peter laughing at the dogs before he opens his eyes, and he calls, “If you cave in, give everyone a taste!”

“I just know,” Frederick says, “that there is a dirty joke in there somewhere.”

“You would know,” Randall says, and Will drags himself into a sitting position, blinking as he registers what can only be a group effort to make breakfast.

“Awake now?” Tobias asks, setting the table. “We thought you could use a good breakfast.”

“Pretty much,” Will says, and laughs when Winston comes bounding up to lick his face, wagging joyfully. Will bids him an affectionate good morning, pulling yesterday's pants under the blanket and wriggling into them before shuffling out to thank everyone for their contributions. They've produced quite a spread, and if much of it is ugly, all of it smells delicious.

“Can we ask about the Omega you helped?” Franklyn asks, and Will is merciful and does not point out that he is asking about the Omega, and shrugs.

“It's a free country, but there's a non-disclosure agreement that covers most of the details until a Bureau rep or the person themselves chooses to reveal it.” He goes back to devouring his food, starting to really feel the deprivation of being thrown into rut like that. Last night he had been running on left over adrenaline, and this morning his back aches, his knot stings, and he eats two entire plates, mopping them clean with bites of pancake.


	16. Fromage à Trois

As soon as Will had finished breakfast and taken a long, hot shower, he gets to work reestablishing everyone's routine. Bella had done her best, but of course she doesn't know everything Will does about his clients. Randall has been covering nebulously-mated Alpha jitters with his usual calm mask, and Tobias and Frederick have done some backsliding on their cautious truce. This is not helped in the least by the quickly-growing friendship between Frederick and Franklyn. The two of them lovingly trimming each other's beards after dinner in the larger space and better lighting of the living room sends Tobias into such a state that Will takes him for a walk, even though it's rapidly getting dark. The dogs are all delighted to go, of course, and Tobias eases just a little as he watches them surge ahead into the twilight.

“I know that I'm being immature,” Tobias says, after they've been walking for about fifteen minutes in silence, Will switching on his flashlight as the last of the sunset fades from the sky. It's a clear night, but the moon hasn't risen yet and they actually need it.

“It's nice to hear you admit it,” Will says. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

Tobias groans, slipping a hand into the hood of his borrowed coat to run it over his close-cropped hair. “I don't know,” he says. “I just... if he's so close to Frederick already, does it even mean anything that he liked me immediately? Is he just desperate?”

“He is desperate,” Will says, “but that's not all there is to him.” He turns their steps to what he thinks of as Secret Loop, a secluded little trail that's good for confidences. “You have common interests, he gets your jokes, and he understands you well enough to understand your affectionate gestures, which are subtle, and I'm going to use a technical term here, 'weird.'”

Tobias snorts. “Thank you, Mr. Graham.”

“And he also likes Frederick, who is too much like you for the two of you to get along.”

“I generally don't get along with climbers,” Tobias says with a sneer, and Will rolls his eyes.

“This is what's annoying, Tobias. Franklyn is second-generation new money and you know it, and yet he's the one you're jealous of.”

“Franklyn doesn't pretend,” Tobias grumbles, and then goes silent again. 

Will switches off the flashlight as the stars come out, their light combining with the rising moon to make the path ahead clear enough, with faint tree-shadows across it. 

“I see that last phrase for the admission that it is,” Tobias adds, as they stop to watch the stars, the dogs snuffling and marking, creating a quiet susurration in the bushes around them.

“Good,” Will says. “I was getting sick of watching you jump through hoops.”

“But... what do I do now?” he says, and his voice is smaller and more humble than Will has ever heard it.

“There's nothing that you have to do now, Tobias, except to try to get along with Frederick. Franklyn is his friend as well as yours, and you need to share time. As for any realizations about yourself, you can keep them completely internal if you want. It's up to you.”

Tobias lets out a deep sigh. “I'm bent, and I have to live with that, don't I?”

“Pretty much,” Will says, his hands in his pockets. Franklyn seems to like Alpha pheromones well enough, but Will wouldn't surprised if he liked more than one dynamic. He says nothing of the kind to Tobias, though, just walks him around the loop and back to the house in a silence informed by the rustling and small vocalizations of happy dogs.

By the time they get back, Franklyn and Frederick have finished grooming each other and are now forming a little Omegapile of two on the couch, Frederick curled up against one arm, Franklyn leaning on him as they watch something on his tablet. It looks like Peter and Randall have already gone to bed, and as Will is ushering the dogs inside and making his automatic headcount of the pack, Tobias slips out of his boots and pads over to the couch, settling on Franklyn's other side. Frederick gives him one of those simultaneously hurt and haughty looks he's so good at, and Franklyn sighs, looking from Tobias to Frederick and back again.

“Guys,” he says, a faint warning mixed with the reproach in his tone, “are we gonna watch this documentary on Roquefort-sur-Soulzon like adults, or not?”

“We are,” Tobias says softly. “I apologize for my earlier remarks.”

“Accepted,” Frederick says. “Thank you.”

Franklyn starts their show again, and Will makes sure he has breakfast for the dogs while listening for trouble and sniffing for vinegar. The group on the couch sounds and smells all right, and stays stable for long enough that Will goes upstairs to check on his other charges as the voice-over guy gets to the part about the caves.

Randall's light is off, but Peter's isn't. Will gently knocks on the door, and can smell a flush of tension from the other side. “W-Will?”

“Yeah. I can go.”

“C-come, come in, p-please.”

Peter is an unhappy little blanket ball on the bed, and Will sits on the edge of it, just touching his shoulder. Scruffing an Omega on their bed would be inappropriate as hell in this context, even if Will kind of wants to. Peter sighs and pats his hand, sitting up to lean again him.

“H-hey,” he says softly, and Will nuzzles his hair, just a little.

“What's wrong?” Will murmurs, and Peter sighs.

“I j-just don't know if Randall r-really w-w-wants, wants to k-keep me,” he whispers, and Will puts an arm around him.

“Much as I want to, I can't pound on his door and demand to know his intentions right now. We can have a meeting tomorrow, okay?”

“O-okay,” Peter says, sounding only a little soothed.

“You know you're good enough for anybody, don't you?” Will says softly.

“I'm j-just so, so b-broken,” Peter mutters. “I kn-know, I deserve love as m-much as anyb-body, but...”

“But nothing.” This time he does scruff Peter, just a little. “Get some sleep. All three of us will talk tomorrow.”


	17. An Important Meeting

Will feels better the next morning, but still far from one hundred percent. His knot is worse than ever, and he lets himself hog the real bathroom for much longer than usual. A second toilet crammed into what used to be a broom closet has improved the situation, but this is where the medicine cabinet is, and Will takes the time to dry the skin completely like he's supposed to and apply salve and a bandage to keep it from making a mess. By the time he's done Frederick is practically breaking down the door he and he can smell Peter's anxiety along with all the irritation.

“All right, all right,” Will says, opening the door and letting Frederick come charging in, “just trying to recover, don't mind me. Really don't mind me,” he adds more softly to Peter once the door is closed, taking his arm. “Is Randall done with breakfast?”

“M-mostly,” Peter says, and sure enough, Randall is rinsing his plate when they get back. 

He tenses up at the sight of them, and Franklyn blinks innocently, sleepy and adorable, cradling his first cup of milky coffee in both hands as Tobias gives them a much more alert look but says nothing, spreading dry toast with that gross marmalade Jack gave Will months ago and that he hadn't had the heart to refuse. It's nice to see it getting some use, which is a quiet counterpoint to how not nice it is to see Randall looking so tense. He looks almost as bad as he had on his first day, when he had been so sure that Will wouldn't really accept him as an Alpha, so miserable and determined. Will does his best not to groan in exasperation and takes them both up to the office. It's neither of their turn to clean up after breakfast today, anyway.

Cluttered as it is, the office still makes a decent meeting space. And it's nearly perfect for something like this, all the various boxes forming a kind of protective nest around the patch of usable floor. The only chair is the one for Will's desk, but he keeps several cushions for times like this, and they each select one and settle onto the floor, Randall looking so nervous it's like a sickness, and Peter staring at the floor.

Will sighs. “All right, boys. Who wants to go first?”

“Omegas first,” Randall says, and Peter chuckles, the sound a little cracked.

“Th-thanks, Randall,” he says, sounding only a little sarcastic. He takes a deep breath and begins, his eyes closed the way he tends to keep them during stressful disclosures. “I r-really, _really_ like you, R-Randall, and I g-guess I just c-c-c-can't, c-can't, be s-s-sure...” he trails off, quivering a little in that seizure-y way that only seems to happen when he's distressed, and Randall reaches out to scruff him, looking surprised at his own daring.

“Peter,” he says softly, sounding helpless, “I do feel the same way, but you've been so weird about it...”

“ _I've_ b-b-been, been weird about it?” Peter snaps. He's bristling, but he doesn't make the slightest move to get Randall's hand off of his neck, and that's a good sign. “Y-you've b-been acting l-l-like, like you've got f-fucking buyer's remorse!”

The gobsmacked stare Randall gives him would be funny under other circumstances. “I-- _what_?!”

“Y-you l-look at m-me like you feel s-sorry for me,” Peter whispers.

Randall says, “Maybe I do,” which makes Will tense up to separate them, because he's worked with a lot of injured Omegas, and any disabled one who can get around in a tiny house that's totally not ADA-compliant, (as well as a wheelchair user who had been shuttled out to spend time with the dogs) and he knows that to say that pity does not go over well is a massive understatement. Sure enough, the room is filling with the burnt-grass smell of an angry Omega, but then Randall says, “But it's about me, not you. You deserve a real Alpha, and I just worry that later you'll feel the same way."

If anything, Peter smells even angrier, but there's that sweet, caramelized note that comes with fierce love, too. “Y-you d-dumb motherf-fucker!” he yells, and does pull out from under Randall's hand, but it's only to hug him so tightly that it looks painful, blue veins standing out in his strong arms. “Y-you kn-now b-b-better, better than, than that.” His voice is going rough with tears, and Randall pulls him into his lap, hushing him and rubbing his back.

“You do know better than that,” Will adds. “If working Peter through his heat made your dysphoria flare up again, you needed to tell someone.”

“I know,” Randall mutters, and he sounds pretty close to crying, himself. “I know, but I didn't think about using my hand to knot until later, y'know? At the time it really felt like it was enough, that Peter really liked it. But now I keep wondering if it was just the hormones talking and if I'm going to lose him the second someone better comes along.”

Peter starts to stammer an indignant defense of his own loyalty, but stops when Will holds up a hand. “Somehow I think this isn't about you, Peter.”

Randall groans. “I'm such an asshole,” he mutters. “I know Peter isn't like that. I know. But I just can't stop thinking about everything I don't have and I don't know why I can't stop.”

“I'd say you're the one being hormonal now,” Will says, as gently as he can. “I think we need to check your dosages, because you sound like me when I was fifteen and in love with this incredible Omega girl who was two years older than me and actually had to go to debutante balls and stuff.”

“How teen movie,” Randall says. “What happened? If you don't mind telling us,” he adds, visibly relaxing as Peter cuddles him.

“She ended up being the first person to touch my knot and the reason I jumped out of a second-story window. Totally worth it,” he adds, as Peter giggles, nuzzling in against Randall's collarbone. 

Will smiles. “Be glad you're both of age,” he says, getting up and putting his cushion back on the stack before picking up the phone on his desk.

“I'm going to leave you here to talk,” he continues, “but it's a good time to call for that appointment.” By this point Randall has it memorized, and Will quietly closes the door on Randall arranging something for next week, Peter still curled up in his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Internalized Transphobia' tag is there because Randall has a bad moment with it. He has support, though. <3


	18. Upkeep

Will only gives them about fifteen minutes alone in the office. By his own rules it should be no minutes, but he has a feeling that neither of them is really in the mood to steal or sabotage anything, somehow. In that amount of time they've decided that they want to room together, which is technically legal whether the O on Randall's paperwork has been changed or not, and it hasn't, simplifying everything.

Helping them haul the furniture around to their liking makes Will feel like an old man who has recently been dragged behind a horse, so he ends up calling in Tobias and then watching Franklyn watch him, which is sort of hilarious. He's definitely showing off now, in the classical Alpha style that works so well for him. By the time Peter and Randall are installed to their satisfaction, Will is positive that Franklyn definitely likes Omegas as much or more than Alphas. It's good news in the face of how obviously Tobias wants him.

Franklyn remains oblivious, and it's somewhere between cute and annoying, but Will is just glad to rest. He doesn't even go on the first walk of the day. Peter knows all the routes and the dogs know to come home, whatever happens. Will sprawls fully-clothed on his unmade bed and naps until the rattling of utensils that signifies someone making lunch wakes him. He feels irresponsible, but all his dogs and clients are home safely, and Frederick is making some kind of elaborate salad while Franklyn pulls a casserole out of the oven.

“Ugh.” Will rubs his hands over his face. “I'm supposed to feed you guys, I'm really falling down on the job.”

“We're supposed to take turns,” Franklyn says, “and you need your rest.”

“I do need my rest,” Will admits, petting a few dogs for strength before creaking to his feet. He also needs more salve, but he's probably not going to be able to muster the energy to apply it until after lunch.

Tuna casserole has never been a favorite of Will's, but Franklyn's grandmother's recipe is pretty good, and in his present state that's more than enough motivation to eat three helpings. He staggers to the bathroom afterward, and once he's re-salved and semi-washed and almost presentable, he comes shuffling back out to make sure that everyone has finished moving from room to room, and that Tobias is taking Franklyn and Frederick staying together philosophically. He is perhaps a little snappish during the everyone-but-Peter-and-Will game of Uno that starts up after dinner (card games are no fun for Peter, for obvious reasons) but he's a naturally competitive person, and does lose catastrophically, so it's hard to be sure. 

Besides, Will is busy making the long and complex grocery list a household like his requires, since his absence has left the cupboards perilously close to bare, and he's also helping Peter with the macrame-type string art he has taken up. Since it's a repetitive hand motion he can do it without looking, but needs Will to help him set it up and keep his colors sorted as he works. Really, it's a good sign that Randall isn't insisting on doing this himself. Will isn't sure what Peter's eventual goal is, he's just making lengths of pretty braid. Maybe they're just practice, maybe they're part of something bigger. Will doesn't really feel a need to ask.

Even with his nap, Will goes to bed early, and is far beyond glad that Tobias and Frederick aren't still rooming together, even if there has been a thaw in relations. After seeing everyone upstairs and then making a compulsive patrol of the house, he flops onto his bed and wonders if it's too late to call Margot. It must be, because he falls asleep as he's pondering that question.

Despite a swirl of anxious and deranged dreams, Will is able to wake up early enough to feed t he dogs, which is good, because other people always forget how small Buster actually is and give him too much. He stands out on the porch and watches the late sunrise before going in and starting grits and eggs, because it's about all there is left. Frederick comes limping down the stairs and finds a few scrappy vegetables to saute together, and if it's not as balanced or sumptuous a meal as Will likes to provide, at least there's enough for everybody.

Since mid-morning is a good time to go grocery shopping since it's an off hour, Will goes out right after the walk, taking Tobias and Franklyn with him. Peter is better at remembering things Will forgets to put on the list, but he wants to stay home and nest with Randall, and Frederick hadn't felt like going anywhere. It's worrying to see such a dapper little bastard staying in his bathrobe for hours, but he does seem to be enjoying the newspaper crossword and his third cup of coffee, so Will leaves him to it.

With six adults in the household and a possible seventh to come, they take two full-size carts and load up. Franklyn turns out to be a great shopping assistant. He's helpful and eager and seems to know where everything is, and even finds the weird gluten-free flax bars Tobias likes so much. He places them into the cart with the kind of gentleness that suggests a courting gift and makes Will wonder if he should branch out from surrogacy into running a double-O matchmaking service.

After dragging everything home and cramming it into the various cupboards and the second refrigerator and the chest freezer, Will really doesn't feel like doing anything, but the dogs need their midday walk, and his clients need the bright autumn sun and fresh air. They take a path with a section that's much rougher than Will remembers, and it's like some kind of miracle when Tobias just carries Frederick. Franklyn walks beside them with Frederick's cane, and keeps up a nice, easy conversation with him to take his mind off of his embarrassment. Really, he rides piggy-back with a surprising degree of dignity, and Tobias kneels to set him down once they're past it, the movement genuinely elegant.

“Thank you very much,” Frederick says, stepping down. “You too, of course,” he adds, taking his cane from Franklyn.

“You're welcome,” Tobias says, standing and stretching while Franklyn blatantly ogles him.

“I'm just sorry I forgot how this place gets this time of year,” Will says. What's already stony and bumpy becomes covered in rain-slick fallen leaves, and is no place for a cane without an ice cleat.

“Anything to facilitate intradynamic bonding, I suppose,” Frederick says, but there's kindness with the sarcasm, and Will smiles.

“Still,” he says, yet again feeling that dumb urge to scruff Frederick, “there's an easier way back.”


	19. Early Nights And Weird Mornings

It's a good thing that Frederick doesn't have to worry about the path on the way back, because as soon as they're in the house again he gets a call from his lawyer about the whole Gideon thing. He's very cool and professional for the duration of the call, and then hangs up and immediately starts having some kind of panic attack. 

It's very quiet, and at first Will thinks he's just resting his leg, but soon the trembling starts, and a slow, silent wave of Omega panic pheromones starts spreading from Frederick, washing outward to fill the room. It's nearly solid, that desperate, acrid stink of fear that makes Will literally drop what he's doing, broom clacking to the floor as he rushes over to Frederick before remembering that Alpha comfort probably won't do anything to help. Randall is upstairs, thank God, but Franklyn looks like he's about to faint in contagious terror, and Tobias is busy supporting him and getting him into an armchair. 

Will kneels beside the couch, just out of arm's reach of Frederick. “Frederick,” he says as gently as he can, “I need you to breathe.” He's too far gone even to make a smart remark, and that's what really worries Will. He does seem to be trying to slow his breathing, though, and he's able to look up at Will a moment later. “You're safe here,” Will tells him, and Frederick nods. “Franklyn,” Will says, not looking away, “pull yourself together and come sit by Frederick.”

To his eternal credit, Franklyn manages to get up and join Frederick, leaning on him and smelling as he calm as he can. Will sends Tobias to get Peter, and he joins the pile, bringing his current blanket with him. Will drafts Randall to help him haul firewood while they let the others form the kind of soothing pile that does so much good in these situations.

“I want to kill whoever made Frederick so scared,” Randall says, after a lot of slamming wood into place and other gestures that make his rage obvious. 

Will feels it, too, he's just an old hand by now. “I know,” he says. “It's hard when you have to keep your cool, but there's no one in killing range and it'd just upset him anyway.”

Randall laughs, relaxing a little. “I guess not.”

By the time they've moved enough wood and Will dares to introduce Alpha pheromones to the house again, Frederick is calm but Franklyn is having a crying fit. Tobias is sitting there like he's made of wood, but Peter is doing his best to pet and soothe the pair of them.

“Tobias,” Will says, “go start some tea. The calming blend in the green box.”

“Aye-aye, cap'n,” Tobias murmurs, and squeezes Franklyn's shoulder on his way to the kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Franklyn sniffles, “and I know that I'm making myself the center of attention but I can't stop.”

“I would rather someone else was the center of attention,” Frederick says, and hugs him.

Between this and Peter and Randall having a spat over nothing out of residual adrenaline, Will is emotionally exhausted before he even starts cooking dinner, and by eight pm he is extremely glad to collapse onto his bed while the others find quiet things to do around him and the dogs pile up around him.

Will slides into the sleep of the just easily. He wakes from it slowly, drawn inexorably upward by Frederick hissing, “Will. Will, wake up!”

It seems to take all of Will's strength to open his eyes, but he finally does it, totally temporally disoriented and blinking up at Frederick. He looks much softer like this, awake in the dark. His hair is a complete mess, and his eyes are deep enough to drown in. 

“What's wrong?” Will mumbles, struggling to sit up, vaguely glad that he still has his t-shirt on.

Frederick shivers, and pulls his bathrobe tighter around himself. “I... I have difficulty sleeping. Some nights.” Will wants to tell him to join the club, but he waits for him to continue. “I have an unfortunate predilection for Tattlecrime. I do not know if you are familiar with the site...”

“I am,” Will says, rubbing his eyes. He may not like the content one bit, but he has to admit that it keeps up with horrible shit much better than the mainstream. “You figure it has anything to do with the insomnia?”

“Knowing that I am not alone can be surprisingly helpful,” he says, “and this is not about me.”

“Things I thought I'd never hear you say, for five hundred,” Will murmurs, and Frederick glares at him. He sighs. “All right, that's not fair.”

“What I am trying to tell you,” Frederick says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “is that Mason Verger's farm was raided, and among the charges against him was administration of HI-96.”

“And?”

“And who else in this geographical area could have needed an emergency breeding in the past ten days?”

Will chuckles. “Yeah. She never told me her story. Said she was saving it for the police.”

“It seems that she used it to great effect. They found a cache of child pornography that will keep him in jail for the rest of his natural life. That's if he survives. He's in critical condition and Tattlecrime hasn't been able to find out what happened.” He chuckles. “I know one of their main bloggers, and it must be driving her crazy.”

“Wonder if she still feels the same way about saying here.”

“God, this will be a full house,” Frederick says, looking around.

“If I have to, I can fit up more of the barn. It'll work out.”

“I suppose you will find a way,” Frederick says, and gives him a soft, genuine smile that Will feels privileged to see.

“I don't know if I can get back to sleep,” Will says after a moment. “Coffee?”

“No one can decide if it's bad for my one remaining kidney or not,” Frederick says, “so why not?”

By the time the coffee is perking and Frederick has mixed cinnamon sugar for toast, Will's work phone rings. As he picks it up he realizes that he hasn't called his father yet, feels guilty, wonders what he's legally allowed to tell anyone, and then resolves to deal with the matter at hand.

“Will Graham, licensed Alpha surrogate.”

“I should hope you're licensed,” Margot says. “I had them check your availability for me, so this is your last chance to keep me from staying there.”

Will chuckles. “I'll just let Tobias know that he has a new roommate. Real breakfast isn't for another four hours, but we have toast and a couch.”

“I have some red tape here,” she says, “but expect me soon. And thanks,” she adds, right before hanging up. Will can feel himself smiling like an idiot, but feels helpless to stop it.


	20. No Rest For The Wicked

Margot arrives before sunrise with one bag, climbing out of an Omega Crisis Center shuttle and looking so tiny and brave that Will wants to run out and scoop her up before anything can ever hurt her again. As it is, he leaves Frederick to nibble on toast and goes to greet the woman who isn't really his Omega. The dogs charge out after him, and bounce around them, glad to see a new friend and hoping to be fed. Margot laughs at them and pats those who come close enough. Will sets her bag by the couch and ushers her into the kitchen before dashing out to sign the shuttle driver's form to confirm that he is who he says he is and that Margot arrived here. With that done, he goes back in to find Frederick making more toast and assuring Margot that he does, in fact, use plenty of butter.

“There's an art to this,” he says, drenching bread in cinnamon sugar. “You're lucky to have a professional on hand.”

“Obviously,” she says, utterly straight-faced. Will chuckles, lingering at the edge of the kitchen, just watching. Margot looks over at him as Frederick gets to work on topping the second of the four slices Will's toaster can produce at one time. “Are all our papers in order?” she asks, and Will smiles.

“Seems like it. How are you feeling?”

“Free,” Margot says. “Thank you.”

It's awkward, having her here, but it's not bad, and Will putters around, feeding the dogs and doing prep work for human breakfast while Frederick and Margot get to know each other a bit and both turn out to love the same obscure European dance band. Frederick shows Margot how to start another pot in Will's finicky old coffeemaker, and by the time Tobias comes prowling downstairs, things are positively cozy. He stops in the doorway, studying her. Margot studies him right back, and then holds out a hand. He takes it like the gentleman he is, and Will introduces them as the future roommates that they are.

“I don't have much with me,” Margot says, “and I try to be neat.”

Tobias says that he's sure they'll get along, and then finds something cordial to say to Frederick, which is nice. Franklyn is the next to appear, and Will is grateful for his restraint. He stares, but he doesn't ask any of the awkward questions Will can see dancing behind his eyes, and by the time Peter comes down with a blanket for her, Margot seems... well, not at home, she's much too tense for that, but as calm and happy as that bone-deep tension allows.

After breakfast the dogs follow Margot, Tobias, and Will upstairs as they go to shift the furniture around. Tobias of course needs a practice space, but not a very large one, and Margot is soon settled in her half of the room. Looking around her tiny, clean space and her twin bed with a friendly blanket on it, she smiles, and then turns and hugs Will tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and then says that she needs a nap. What she really needs is some time alone to adjust, and Will is glad to provide, even if it means that his own nap that he actually needs gets pushed back until it's a pre-lunch thing rather than a post-breakfast one. It's really about time for a house meeting to see how everyone is doing, and some more public outings, and to begin looking for an Alpha facility for Randall, and a number of other things Will is too exhausted to even think about right now. He checks on Margot and then stumbles back downstairs to try and catch just one hour while the others find something quiet to do, like good children.

Will wakes up to the barking of dogs, and a wash of unfamiliar Alpha scent makes him leap out of bed. She's on the stairs, a flash of red hair and the smell of cassia as Randall snarls at her, blocking her from the second floor while Frederick pleads for both of them to calm down. There's no sign of the others, and Will has to assume they're upstairs.

“What the hell is this?” Will barks over the cacophony of dogs. 

Frederick tries to explain, but the interloper breaks and runs, and Will charges after her in a very glandular and instinctive state. Tackling her the ground outside jars some sense back into him, as does her frantic assurance that there is both no need for this and that she has Mace. That cassia smell is acrid and skunky with fear now, and Will gets off of her, snorting and offering her a hand up. He keeps his hold when she's on her feet, glaring at her. 

“Who are you?”

She sighs. “Freddie Lounds, Tattlecrime. I'm not a complete stranger, Frederick knows me.”

“That's why I care at all about scaring you and staining your clothes,” Will growls.

She smirks up at him. “I'll send you the bill, don't worry.” She takes his arm like this was all her idea, and walks back into the house with him.

Franklyn pokes his head into the stairwell. “Do we need to call the police?”

“I don't think so,” Will says, “it's just a journalist.”

“I am just a journalist,” she says, “and you should call this number.” She hands Will a business card with _Hannibal Lecter, M.D., O.S._ and a phone number printed on it.

Will raises an eyebrow at her. “You're with an Omega surrogate?”

“Yes,” Freddie says, sitting on the couch and primly crossing one knee over the other. “I went AWOL. Now, are you going to call him, or not?”

“I am,” Will says. “Frederick, watch her.” He goes upstairs to find everyone else in Tobias and Margot's room. Peter is sitting in Randall's lap, petting him and telling him to be calm while the others sit on Tobias's bed. Once Will is sure that they're all right, Margot tells him about Freddie's weaseling her way into the house by pretending to be from the Omega Crisis Center but not doing anything worse. Will is still angry, but at least now he feels calm enough to go back downstairs and call Dr. Lecter.


	21. Hannibal Lecter's Home For Fucked Up Alphas

Hannibal prefers to keep an orderly house, and it is extremely vexing to have a missing client. Ms. Lounds may be with him by court order, but he takes her needs as seriously as those of more cooperative Alphas, like poor Mr. Stammets, who still seems so lost.

“Dr. Lecter,” he says now, holding a scented blanket around his shoulders as he comes to join Hannibal in the kitchen, where Hannibal always finds himself in times of turmoil, “where should we try next?”

“I am unsure, Mr. Stammets,” Hannibal says, looking up from checking Tattlecrime again. New material might have given them some clue to Freddie's physical whereabouts, but she's still holding radio silence. He pockets his phone and takes Eldon's hand, something he would not do with just anyone, and rubs a soothing circle on the back of it with his thumb.

“No joy,” Anthony says, hanging his coat and letting out a sad little gust of violet and pepper, not because he cares where Freddie went, but because Hannibal never holds his hand. Eldon won't presume. The same can not be said for their Mr. Dimmond, who has been entirely too fond of Hannibal since the beginning. Just because he's handsome is no reason for Hannibal to give him the time of day.

“She usually comes back from the park on her own,” Hannibal says, “but it was worth it to look. Thank you.” He keeps it as dry as he can, but can practically see Anthony's tail wagging anyway. He does his best not to sigh audibly.

“Hannibal?” Abigail calls from the doorway. “She's still not answering her phone.”

“Thank you, dear,” Hannibal says, and is about to propose calling Alpha Services (something none of them want to deal with) when his own phone rings. The number is unfamiliar, and he wonders if someone has found his wayward charge at last.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he tells the caller, “licensed Omega Surrogate.”

“Good,” the caller growls. “Your missing client is here.”

“I am very sorry if she has been giving you trouble,” Hannibal says.

“She has, come collect her.”

“Come where and collect her from whom, please?” Hannibal asks, and can hear the chagrin in the brief silence on the other end.

“Sorry. Will Graham. Alpha surrogate.” Whatever Freddie has done, Mr. Graham sounds very much annoyed, but also determined to at least attempt courtesy. “She hasn't hurt anyone, but she has rattled and annoyed my clients.”

“And I am very sorry for that,” Hannibal says. “I will come and collect her immediately, Mr. Graham.”

“Will, please,” Will says, sounding like he's covering very well for a kind of exhausted vulnerability. Hannibal of course agrees to address him as he prefers, and takes the down the address when Will gives it to him.

Thankfully, three out of four of Hannibal's clients are reasonable people and can be trusted alone. The fact that Eldon Stammets is among that number is just another of life's supreme ironies. In fact, Hannibal leaves him in charge. He doesn't say so, because it would look bad, but he and Abigail both know what he's doing when he names her as leader in his absence. Not that Hannibal expects them to need to make many heavy decisions. 

Anthony is supposed to be “journaling”, but Hannibal knows full well that he'll just join the others as they put on 'Monsters, Inc.,' and that's probably for the best. He shows Eldon the beginnings of dinner in case he isn't back in time to prepare it, since Eldon is absolutely the only one who can be trusted to put together a decent meal, and then starts the drive out to Wolf Trap, wondering if this little adventure will earn Freddie a tracking anklet of her very own.

The drive is about forty-five minutes with minimal speeding, and takes him further from civilization than he would have thought, out into woods and dull brown autumn fields. He manages to make his way through a small maze of back roads, and at last pulls up to a small house standing alone. Hannibal is relieved to see that the number on the mailbox is the one Will gave him.

As he gets out of the car, a pack of dogs comes surging out of the house, and he tenses for a moment and then relaxes, relieved to see them well-trained and polite. They're very excited to see him, but just a bounce a little, and do not attempt to put their paws on him or even to rub against his legs without permission. At a whistle from the house they go charging back to their master.

“Dr. Lecter, I presume?” he says, and Hannibal does his best not to just huff his scent like an idiot. He has always had a sensitive nose, but he wonders how on earth this man can be exuding such a tantalizing, smoky-sweet Alpha musk and not have people following him down the street any time he goes out.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Graham,” Hannibal says, coming up the stairs, “even under the circumstances.” Will has the face to go with his scent, and Hannibal reminds himself to be professional and not to just stare like an idiot at this perfect little Alpha.

“She didn't really hurt anything,” Will says, holding the door for him, “but we do value our privacy here.”

“Ms. Lounds does not always respect the privacy of others as she should,” he says to Freddie, whose clothes are stained with earth as though there was some kind of struggle, but is now seated on the couch as if she owns it, sipping a glass of water. Frederick Chilton is beside her, and Hannibal nods to him, glad to see that he's finally seeking professional help.

“Hi, Hannibal,” Freddie says, taking another sip of her water.

“I see that you had an encounter with the ground.”

“Will got a little... overzealous about protecting his clients. No one was hurt.”

“She ran and I chased her,” Will grumbles. “And then tackled her in a glandular rage.”

Hannibal does his best not to laugh. “Well. I'm sure it's very provoking to have someone practicing unauthorized journalism upon one's charges.”

“I might have done better if I hadn't just woken up,” Will mutters, rubbing uneasily at the back of his neck, the gesture making him more adorable than ever.


	22. Frederick Needs Hugs

Hannibal Lecter is wearing a suit and talking like a therapist, so of course Will is predisposed against him, but he's also an Omega, and in the middle of apologizing with what might be real sincerity. He smells so incredible that Will sort of resents him for it, carrying a cloud of the kind of rich sweetness Will associates with good wine. There are fascinating little hints of ambergris that make him want to just tuck his nose behind Hannibal's ear and really figure him out. Will of course does not do this. Instead he shakes hands, like a person.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Graham,” Hannibal says, “for not injuring my client despite great provocation.”

Will just shrugs. It's not like he can mention that one of them is carrying his child, so he's more reactive even than usual. “I guess if everyone walks away, it's a good one.”

Hannibal lets out a refined little snort of amusement. “True.” He turns to Freddie, shaking his head. “You are naughty, Ms. Lounds,” he says, sounding very much like a disappointed mother.

“If I make a crack about spankings I'm just in more trouble, right?”

“Right,” Hannibal says, and pulls out a business card, handing it to Will before towing Freddie out by one arm, looking like he's just barely keeping himself from grabbing her by the ear like somebody's grandmother. It does Will's heart good, and he carefully tucks the card into his wallet as Frederick stands and stretches, shaking his head.

“I can't believe that girl sometimes,” he says, and there's something wistful in his exasperation.

“Seems like you know her pretty well.”

“I'm not going to make an inside and out joke,” Frederick says, one hand lightly pressing against his belly, “but she was there.” Will hasn't seen him without a shirt, but has to assume that his fingertips are finding a scar. 

Will has read the police report, knows the bare bones of what happened to Frederick, but he hadn't realized that bystander forced to run the ventilator had been Freddie Lounds, the bane of Jack's existence. Formerly Will's, but it's been years since the last time he worked with the FBI, and the thought of any Alpha being helpless in the face of someone hacking open any Omega, let alone one they knew, is enough to make him want to drive over to Hannibal's residence to give her a blanket and a hug.

“She hasn't returned my calls.” Frederick mutters, turning toward the spot where she had been, trying to breathe in that cassia smell without being obvious. Will sighs, and sits between him and the near arm of the couch, so as not to muddy the scent.

“Alphas are like that, sometimes,” Will says. “She probably hates herself for not being able to protect you.”

Frederick snorts. “I know all about fragile egos, Will. She didn't even stop by the hospital to make sure that I was alive. I've called her three times, but I have my pride, Will.”

Will nods, and puts a cautious hand on Frederick's shoulder. He sighs, and turns to Will. “Why don't you ever touch me?” His tone is so plaintive that Will hugs him before he can think better of it. Frederick tenses in surprise, but then relaxes, leaning into it and wrapping his arms around Will's neck.

“Thought I'd scare you,” Will mutters into Frederick's hair.

“Alphas scared me at first,” he says. “Classic aversive conditioning. But now it's like I'm too broken to touch, something fragile for people to pity. I'd almost rather people just drop me, like Freddie has.”

Will sighs, and rubs his back. “Sorry. I'll start giving in to my Neanderthal urge to scruff you when you look sad.”

Frederick chuckles, resting his head on Will's shoulder. “Thank you, Will.”

“Is it safe?” Franklyn calls from the stairs, sounding only half-joking. Randall is right behind him, looking entirely too tense, and Peter is behind Randall, with a grounding hand on his arm.

“It's all right,” Will says, “Dr. Lecter collected his client. Is Margot okay?”

“Yeah,” Franklyn says, coming downstairs to pat Frederick soothingly, Randall and Peter drifting into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. “She's doing Tobias's makeup.”

Will chuckles. “Sounds like a good use of their spare time. Randall?” he calls toward the kitchen, “You gonna explode?”

“I guess not,” Randall calls back. Making tea involves a lot of looking at things and touching them at the same time, so Peter is mostly just there for moral support. “Margot's okay, and that's what matters.”

“Speaking of,” Will murmurs to Frederick, “it okay if I go check on her?”

“It is,” Frederick assures him, and as soon as Will gets up, Franklyn takes his place, cuddling up to Frederick in a cozy little Omegapile that does Will's heart good to see. He trots up the stairs, knocking lightly on the cracked door.

“Come in!” Margot calls. Tobias is silent, and when Will steps inside, he can see why. Margot is carefully lining his lips with a theatrical gold that shimmers against his brown skin, bringing out its own natural gold tones.

Will smiles. “That's pretty.”

“And to think that I'm not even done,” Margot says, glancing over and smiling at him.

“I'm just glad you're not upset.”

“I only really was when she tried to follow me. I think she would have turned back even without Randall, but he was certainly a help.”

Will chuckles. “Poor guy. It can't be good for his heart.”

“Probably not,” Margot says, filling Tobias's lips in with the same gold and then adding gloss. His eyes are already heavily lined with black and gold in a way that makes him look like Egyptian nobility, and as soon as his mouth is free, he gives Will a lazy, feline smile that makes his heart flutter a little, and there's no point in denying it. He just smiles back, and hopes he doesn't smell too obvious.

“Come down when you're ready,” he tells them. “There's a pot of tea, and we were due for a house meeting anyway.”


	23. Interdynamic Social Skills

Will doesn't like to be overly formal, so for him a house meeting is everyone around the kitchen table, sipping tea. Margot sits on his right, because having her close soothes him. She just barely smells pregnant, hardly a whiff of that delicate fragrance that's not really much like sugared violets, but is otherwise impossible to describe.

“All right,” Will says, once everyone is settled and has added sugar, milk, or lemon according to their own preferences, “I've been slacking lately, but I think I'm about recovered, and it's time for us to talk. Who wants to start?”

Peter chuckles. “I-I w-will,” he says. “I've b-been d-doing better, and it l-looks like I can stay off my anti, anticonvulsant. So far. A-and the V-vocational people s-s-say they might, might have something for me.”

Will nods, and listens to Peter talk about his possible gig at one of the local no-kill shelters. It's a good match, a job description that includes things like cleaning cages and exercising the dogs, and Will hopes it works out for him. Randall is of course tense at the idea of any separation from his beloved, and it does Will's heart good to see Peter leaning into Randall, confident enough of his appeal to use it to distract his Alpha, and to smell the little cloud of calm, milky scent. He's going to miss Peter when he leaves.

Margot has started shopping for a good obstetrician, and the others have recommendations and advice from their mothers, which is nice. Randall is resigned to having to move to an Alpha facility soon. It will be a wrench to stop rooming with Peter, but he is looking forward to spending more time with other Alphas. Franklyn has settled in nicely, and is only a bit nervous at the thought of some more public outings, instead of nearly paralyzed with fear as he had been in the depths of the crisis that had gotten him referred to Will. Frederick is practically salivating at the prospect of escaping the house for an afternoon or so, and he has a list of suggestions that he agrees to give Will later, since right now he feels like he won't remember them.

Through all of this, Tobias is nearly silent, merely offering the office number of his mother's personal physician, which is nice of him. He smells a little anxious, though, and Will isn't surprised when he says he has an announcement to make. It's the last possible minute, of course, but everyone settles back into their chairs without complaint.

“I...I'm bent,” Tobias says, sounding a little shocked at himself. Will wonders if this is the first time he has ever said it aloud.

“Congratulations!” Margot chirps, and Tobias laughs.

“You knew.”

“I knew,” she agrees, grinning.

“I knew,” Frederick adds, with an eloquent glance toward Franklyn that its object fortunately doesn't notice, too busy starting at Tobias.

“I could have guessed,” Randall says, and Will snorts. 

Franklyn looks a bit like someone who has been hit in the face with a dead trout, but not in a judgmental sort of way. He still looks pretty dazed when the meeting breaks up, but politely accepts another cup of tea when Tobias offers him one. The two of them sit there sipping it in silence, and Will leaves them to it. Frederick follows him and demands couch cuddles with the silent implacability of a friendly cat. Will is happy to give in, and the way Frederick snuggles in under his arm is adorable and heartbreaking in how needy it is. Will scruffs him and he sighs, sinking in against Will's side. Then and there Will vows to find out if Freddie is deserving or not, and to either reunite her with Frederick or chase her off, accordingly. For now it's just so nice and warm where he is that Will dozes off.

He wakes up alone, to the sound of Tobias and Frederick quietly bickering about the best way to test pasta for doneness Will feels like a loser for his latter failure to feed his Omegas, but he's not getting any younger, and that chemical rut took a lot out of him. He lurches to his feet and takes the dogs out to pee. He ducks behind a tree and joins them, and then leads the pack back indoors, where he finds a sheet of paper and takes down Frederick's list of suggestions while the spaghetti boils.

“I really need to get my shit together,” he tells Frederick, who smiles in a way that blends honest amusement with the old, supercilious one. Will is glad to see him recovered enough to be cocky, and smiles back.

After everyone is in bed, Will checks Lecter's operating hours, neatly printed on the card, and find that it isn't quite too late to call him. He counts just enough rings to make him nervous, and then Lecter answers at last, sounding wide awake.

“Hi,” Will says. “I was wondering if you had a minute.”

“I have several, Mr. Graham,” he says, and Will rolls his eyes.

“Will, please.”

“Then call me Hannibal, Will. How can I help you?”

“I would like a consultation with Ms. Lounds. I promise not to tackle her this time.”

“In my professional opinion as an Omega surrogate of twenty years, she deserved it,” Hannibal says, shocking Will into laughter.

“Well, I'm glad you're not angry. I'm very protective of my clients.”

“I find that tough love works better with Alphas,” Hannibal says. “With judicious indulgence. To soften the stress of being threatened with an ankle monitor, I made a strawberry pie. That kind of thing.”

“Well, I don't thinks she needs _that_ kind of monitoring.”

“If only we were the ones who made those decisions.”

“If only,” Will says. “Anyway, it's getting late...”

“It is,” Hannibal says. “I'll call you tomorrow to let you know Ms. Lounds's inclinations and schedule. Also, I've been wondering if we could perhaps share a field trip. I'm sure both of our client groups could use some practice with interdynamic social skills, but we can talk about that later.”


	24. Talking To Freddie

Freddie turns out to be more willing to meet with Will than he would have thought, and he drives to Hannibal's residence right after breakfast the next morning, trusting Peter to supervise until he gets back. It's a cold day, October winding down and the autumn leaves falling in torrents of color. Will only makes one wrong turn on his unfamiliar route, and is soon pulling up to what he sarcastically thinks of as a Stately Home. This one is tasteful, at least, and Will makes his way up to the door, ringing the bell and waiting

It doesn't take Hannibal long to answer, letting out a cloud of baking smells. “Come in,” he says. “You're early.”

Will shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it neatly on one of the two dozen hooks by the door, a typical feature of a therapeutic residences, where at any moment there might have to be a meeting between a resident, their treatment team, and their entire family. “Hope I'm not _too_ early,” he says, and Hannibal chuckles.

“No, not at all,” he says, leading Will out of the entryway and into an enormous kitchen, “Come and sample something.” Hannibal clearly does not fuck around, and Will stares at the gleaming tools of the trade and at the racks of cooling cookies and pies. “I'll be freezing some of this,” Hannibal says, “but for now, would you prefer molasses spice or chocolate chip?”

Will chooses the latter, and eats it with an honest to god glass of milk and a slight sense of real alarm. He has always had a weakness for house-proud Omegas who cook. It probably ties into growing up without a mother, and he really doesn't want to get into it, ever. It turns out that the smell is two more pies in the oven. Will watches Hannibal pull them out, and then glances up as movement on the stairs and the scent of cassia let him know that Freddie has joined them.

“Do you always make so much?” he asks Hannibal.

“Usually, in the fall,” he says, setting the two latest on a rack. “Taking advantage of berry season. And then I freeze what cannot be immediately eaten, and I have it on hand for February, when even I have a hard time caring about anything.” Beyond being the ragged end of winter, February represents a complete hormonal nadir for the northern hemisphere. It hits some people harder than others, but just about everyone is affected.

“Brilliant strategy,” Will says, finishing his milk as Freddie steps up to the kitchen counter.

“Ready, Ms Lounds?” Hannibal asks her, and she sighs. 

“Yeah.” She's as neatly put-together as ever, but looks like she hasn't slept. “Are we using your office?”

“You are,” Hannibal says, and sets down his oven mitts to guide them to it. The place is opulent in a weird way, and Will wonders who on earth thought that red and white curtains were a good idea here. The chairs are comfortable at least, and Hannibal leaves them alone as, padding away on silent feet.

There are a lot of different ways to approach an Alpha about their intentions toward an Omega. Will prefers to be direct about it, so as soon as he and Freddie are settled into their seats, he says, “Did you really not check on Frederick, afterward?”

She sighs. “No. I was there before he woke up.”

“He thinks you weren't there at all,” Will says, and Freddy cringes, acrid self-hatred pouring off of her in a wave. Will snorts and shakes his head, grimacing. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

Freddie groans. “I just... my instincts aren't that strong. I'm more used to faking this kind of response for sympathy than actually having it.”

“Of course you are,” Will says. “You know what I recommend, as a deeply instinctual Alpha?”

“A great big slobbery forgiving hug?” At least she's not too beaten to get sarcastic, that's a good sign.

“Not so much right at once,” Will says. “I was thinking a phone call might be a good place to start.”

“Ugh, and say what? 'Sorry I'm so little and weaselly that I couldn't protect you?' 'Still having nightmares, how about you?'”

Will sighs. “More like, 'hey, I still care about you a lot, but my response to our shared trauma is making me react in unhelpful ways.' Maybe also mention that you give a shit if he's alive or dead, and that you checked on him in the hospital. You know he has self-esteem issues already.”

Freddie cringes a little, because of course she knows it. “I... I'm sort of...” she looks away and chews the next word over for a long time before she can let it out, “afraid. Of how I might act around him.”

“You grew up in one of those upper-middle-class homes where sniffing is animalistic and bad, didn't you?”

“What gave me away?” Freddie snipes, and Will chuckles.

“I don't think Frederick would think badly of you if you sniffed, scruffed, or licked him, if that's what you're worried about. He misses you.”

“Does he even know you're here?”

“No,” Will says, “I didn't want to get his hopes up.”

It doesn't take much more to wear Freddie down, and by the time they leave the office, she has agreed to call Frederick by the end of the day. Hannibal smiles at them as they round the corner to the kitchen, where the other residents have gathered for pie and coffee. Hannibal of course offers them the same, and while Will should be getting back, his weakness for a well-made blackberry pie compels him to stay and be introduced to everyone.

Anthony Dimmond seems torn between ingratiating himself with Will and fighting him, Eldon Stammets seems disquietingly sane, and Abigail Hobbs is simply precious. She still smells a little like a child, and wears a scarf to cover what must be quite a scar on her throat. She asks Will about being an Alpha surrogate, and Will can tell that a shared outing would be good for her. Really, all four of these poor creatures need more Omega company, and Will has a feeling his own clients will benefit as well.


	25. Field Trip I

Freddie does make good on her promise to call Frederick, so Will doesn't have to drive back to Hannibal's house and bludgeon her with a chair. She calls right before the house's average bedtime, and Frederick brightens up all over, smelling nervous and happy, a wave of soft, tangy sweetness. He scurries upstairs to take the call, and Franklyn obligingly stays below to talk to Tobias and Margot for a while.

Will is rested enough now to get back to his usual pattern of staying up until everyone is in bed, prowling around upstairs to check on each of his precious Omegas. Well, and one Alpha. Randall is starting to smell very peppery and rich, a strong, clean Alpha scent. Will reminds himself to talk to Hannibal about that transfer, since his is one of the nearest Alpha residences in the area.

Hannibal ends up calling him, first thing in the morning to thank him for how much better Freddie is doing since Will bullied her into calling Frederick. Will chuckles, holding the phone in the in crook of his shoulder as he putters around, fixing breakfast for the dogs and pondering what to serve the humans.

“I already failed Frederick by not realizing that he needed hugs,” Will says, slopping food into dog dishes. “C'mere, guys. Breakfast!” he calls to them, and they come trotting in. “Feeding the dogs,” he explains to Hannibal, who laughs.

“Clients are all that I can manage. I commend you.”

“Eh, their needs are simple.” He starts a pot of coffee and stretches his back, watching as the dogs snarfle up their food, tails wagging. “Since we're talking anyway...” he adds, and Hannibal chuckles.

“I do have room for your OtA client, yes. I smelled him when I was collecting Ms. Lounds.”

“Good,” he says. “He's in a relationship with another of my clients, I want to keep him nearby.”

“It is fortuitous that we should be so close,” Hannibal says.

Before putting the transfer through, they opt to have their first shared outing. If someone (probably Dimmond) can't get along with Randall, they might have some warning this way. There's a special exhibition at a natural history museum that's about equidistant from both households, and everyone is at least neutral about going. Randall loves bones and teeth, Peter loves animals and nature in general, Frederick is so bored of staying in that he hardly cares what they do, and even Tobias says that it doesn't sound too dull. Franklyn is a little nervous, but also excited to try this whole 'being in public' thing again.

Hannibal agrees to meet them there with his household at noon, and Will fires up the old van that he only has because he got sick of borrowing one when he had to take four or more clients anywhere. These days it also lets him get all the dogs to the vet at the same time, for parvo shots and whatever else, so of course Tobias spends a lot of the journey bitching about shed fur. Will just ignores him (and Frederick when he joins in) and tells Franklyn to turn up the radio. Franklyn gets carsick and has to ride in front, naturally, but he's a very good copilot, and spots a very convenient parking space when they get there. Frederick actually has a placard, but they're almost as close as the handicapped spaces anyway, and he's having a good day, as far as pain and stiffness goes.

The other group is waiting for them next to a sleeker, sportier minivan than Will even knew anyone manufactured. Hannibal is of course in an impeccable suit, but the others mostly look normal. Stammets especially, since Will knows far too many details of his case. A man who almost turned a diabetic Omega into a mushroom farm has no business seeming so harmless. Abigail smiles and waves, and Dimmond gives Will a look he got used to a long time ago: the unsubtle glare of an insecure Alpha. Something about him just sets that type off, and he's still not sure what it is.

For now, he lets Hannibal make introductions all around, and lead the way into the building. Randall is trying to stick close to Peter and study the others at the same time, and it's kind of adorable in its futility. Getting in and getting everyone a pass and a map and agreeing when to meet makes it feel like a school trip, but mercifully, everyone here is an adult, and that means that Will can wander off and look at the fossilized sea shells and trilobites that no one looks at when there are dinosaurs around.

After a while, Will's instincts get the better of him, and he starts tracking that not-really-sugared-violets through the building, finding Margot deep in conversation with Hannibal, beside a display of fossilized ferns, another one that nobody cares about right now, with more exciting things on loan.

“I admire your resolve,” Hannibal is saying softly as Will approaches.

“That's pretty much what everyone says,” Margot says, “but thanks.” She smiles at Will. “Hey. Just talking my situation over with Hannibal.”

“Well, if anyone knows more Omega-friendly physicians than I do, it would be him,” Will says, fighting the urge to just put an arm around Margot and smell her hair the way he does at home. He tries to keep the mate-like gestures to a minimum, but they do have a bond now, like it or not.

“Thank you,” Hannibal says, with a look that makes Will certain that he has put the essentials of the situation together. “I like to help where I can.”

Abigail and Franklyn go by arm-in-arm, Franklyn prattling away about opera, and Hannibal smiles. “This was a good idea,” he murmurs, and Will's heart breaks a little for the poor girl. If his father had hunted Omegas like deer, he'd need reassurance too, and being around Franklyn without eating him alive has to be a good start.


	26. Field Trip II

On outings like this, Will usually prowls the edges of his group, keeping track of each of his Omegas in that quasi-instinctual way that's so hard to help. It feels beyond strange to be arm-in-arm with someone and actually looking at the exhibits like some kind of normal person. They are pretty great, and he smiles to see Randall over by the cave bear, utterly fascinated with it. Stammets is standing next to him, head tilted as he considers the creature before them.

“Not to be offensive,” Will murmurs to his companion, “but I am surprised that he's allowed out.”

Hannibal sighs. “Eldon is actually not entirely unlike you, Will. His crime was motivated by a desperate need for connection.”

“Don't psychoanalyze me,” Will growls, lip curling back a little over his teeth.

Hannibal just laughs, giving Will's arm an affectionate pat. “I shall endeavor to refrain,” he says, and a wave of conciliatory scent drifts over Will and makes him feel drugged for half a second before it disperses.

“Thank you,” Will says as crisply as he can manage, and then bristles up all over again as Peter approaches Randall from behind, sliding his arms around his waist and putting himself entirely too close to Stammets for Will's comfort. Will told everyone the conditions of Stammets's parole so they know that he isn't supposed to be alone with them, but they're in the middle of the room and about as far from alone as they can be. 

Peter, bless his heart, doesn't seem to care at all, and just nuzzles Randall a little as Will tries to keep back a low, warning growl. Stammets doesn't look at him, but silently drifts off to examine something else. A draft brings his scent to Will, and he smells like rain, chemical-tinted earth, and sorrow. Will snorts, trying to keep it from being obvious.

“We're still sorting out his medication,” Hannibal murmurs.

“I suppose I should try to be less hostile to someone who turned himself in,” Will admits.

“Precisely,” Hannibal says. “Really, just being useful around the house has been incredibly good for him.”

Will has to smile. “Franklyn's the same way.” He can't help looking around for the guy as he speaks, because his lizard brain will probably never stop seeing Stammets as a threat to his charges. Franklyn is still with Abigail, the pair of them listening as Tobias explains something about humidity. He owns a string shop, Will supposes he would know. 

When he says as much, Hannibal laughs. “I shall have to look him up the next time my harpsichord needs new strings.”

“A harpsichord? Why am I not surprised?”

“I also play the theremin,” he says, and Will can't help laughing because of course he does. Of course weird, formal Hannibal in his sharp suits has a fucking theremin lurking somewhere in his house.

“Of course you do!”

“Is the piano in your house purely decorative, Will?”

“As far as I'm concerned, yeah,” he says. “Last time I had a pianist staying with me, we had it tuned, but it's probably out again.” He feels a little thrill of something almost like terror as he looks around and can't place Frederick immediately, but a flash of red lets him pinpoint Freddie, who is speaking very intently to Frederick in a sheltered corner. Will has no idea what she's saying, but he doesn't smell any distress from Frederick.

Beside him, Hannibal chuckles. “Our Ms. Lounds may be a devious, unscrupulous, and muckraking cutthroat, but she truly cares for Dr. Chilton. I suppose someone has to,” he adds, so catty that Will laughs.

“He used to annoy me too,” he says softly, “but he's... sweet. I wouldn't have expected it either, believe me.”

“Maybe it's just what you bring out in him,” Hannibal says, and then checks the time. “You and I should probably feed our households now.”

It is about noon, and no one objects when Will has them regroup in the restaurant, which was one of the deciding factors in meeting here, because of Hannibal's exacting standards for food. At least it's not obnoxiously fancy, just sandwiches made from real food. Will can't help but notice Freddie insisting on paying for Frederick's meal, and the two of them find a table of their own while Randall and Peter settle with Abigail and Anthony Dimmond, who's giving Peter a pitying little look that makes Will want to punch him. Peter doesn't seem to notice, though, so there's no point in being disruptive.

“Mr. Dimmond can be trying,” Hannibal murmurs, “but he does his best not to be _overtly_ rude.”

“He needs to work on that,” Will grumbles, and Hannibal laughs.

By the time they leave the exhibit at four, Frederick looks much more cheerful, and Randall has some idea of the people he's going to be living with. Will can tell that he already doesn't like Dimmond, but it shouldn't boil over into anything serious. If Peter isn't around for Dimmond to look at like a consolation prize, they'll probably be able to remain civil. 

On the drive home, Frederick's sweet, hopeful scent fills the van and keeps making Franklyn blush. It makes Will feel the way he does in spring, and it's a shock to get out of the van at home and see his breath. There's plenty of split wood, thanks to Tobias working out his feelings, and Will shows him how to build a fire as Frederick and Margot go upstairs to lie down and the others take the dogs out.

Once the fire is self-sustaining, Will stretches out on the floor for a while. Tobias has enjoyed learning life skills that involve getting his hands dirty, but he draws the line at Will's savage wallowing, sitting upright and watching him with adorable disapproval. Will grins up at him, and is about to tell him to go find Franklyn when his phone rings. Tobias is closer, and graciously hands it over.

“Thanks,” Will says, and answers, pleased as he usually is to hear Alana's voice. She sounds a bit harried, and before he knows it, Will is extending an invitation to dinner. Things may be over between then, but he'll always have a soft spot for Alana, and will always want to see her calm and well fed.


	27. Omega Matchmaking Services

Will is hormonal enough these days that he greets Alana with a tight hug, but she returns it and doesn't smell uncomfortable, just a little sad. She looks up at him, her eyes clear and searching.

“Hello, Will,” she says, pressing her smooth cheek to his stubbled one. “Dinner smells good.”

He thanks her and takes her jacket, hanging it up and then leading her to the table to introduce her to Margot, who gives her such a loving look up and down that Will almost asks if he should leave them alone. He doesn't have the heart to make any jokes, though, not when Margot has been so thwarted and wounded. Alana is at least as interested in other Omegas as she is in Alphas, and she would be good for Margot. If the Omega carrying his child can't be his mate, he wants her taken care of.

To keep himself from doing anything too intrusive or fussy, Will concentrates on serving dinner. His nesting instincts have made him cook a ludicrous feast, but since deficiencies exacerbate most conditions, plenty of good food is very helpful. And this way there's a lot of vegetarian stuff for Frederick to choose from. He's still working on finding the right phosphate-blocker, and Will is pulling for him to be able to go cheese shopping with Franklyn soon.

“The last time I talked to Will, he said he was taking you on an outing,” Alana says, as Will brings warmed bread and fresh salad from the kitchen. “How was it?”

It's gratifying to hear that everyone had a good time, and to hear Alana's happy laughter. “I know Hannibal!” she says. “Will, you didn't tell me you were working with him.”

“If you ever told me I forgot,” Will says, setting a last dish on the table. “He's strange, but I like him.”

Frederick mumbles something under his breath, and Will has the feeling that it is not Happy Birthday. He noticed the two of them edging around each other at the museum, and he's still not sure if it's a true rivalry or just Frederick being insecure. Will doesn't have much time to think about it, because after the flutter and bustle of feeding all of his precious darling Omegas (and Randall, his junior Alpha, just as much in need of his help and protection,) he's busy watching Margot and Alana flirt.

Most Alphas will admit to some interest in the idea of two Omegas together. Will is no different, but what he really wants is to see Margot taken care of. He aches to really be her mate just so that she would have one. Seeing her with Alana gives him a warm, slightly melancholy glow in his belly, because if he can't be there for Margot in all the ways she needs, he couldn't think of anyone better than Alana.

Margot, at least, has clearly already made her decision. She's undressing Alana with her eyes in a way that's a joy to watch. Will always likes to see an Omega be bold about their desire, and all through dinner, she quietly but definitively claims Alana's attention. By the time Alana leaves, she looks a little stunned, but definitely happy. Will is glad that Margot isn't helping to clean up tonight, and does his best to distract all the others so his two precious girls can talk by the door. 

He's pretty sure he catches a glimpse of Margot writing something on one of Alana's business cards, and he definitely smells musk and caramel wafting from them, a delectable smell of Omega desire and fertility. Will does his best not to shiver, and the others all get just a little flushed in sympathy. Even Franklyn, who _is_ slightly scent-deficient. His file says that it's a mixture of genetic factors and the sequelae of a bad suppressant in his youth. The very idea makes Will go cold with anger every time it crosses his mind, and he's always glad to see proof that Franklyn's responses to scent still work, even if he can't pick up it up as easily as he should.

Margot comes back to the kitchen, looking bright-eyed and full of mischief. Franklyn blushes, and Frederick winks at her. Peter and Randall are oblivious, and Tobias has already gone upstairs to practice before bed. Once they've finished their tasks, the others filter away as well, leaving Will and Margot to sit by the fire with most of the dogs. Querida likes Tobias's playing, and Sandy likes Querida, so they're both up there. 

The others are all flopped at Margot's feet to bask in her affection, and Will is shocked when her scent wobbles into ashes and she starts to cry. She does it very quietly, just trembling a little. She's still petting the dogs, and laughs through her tears when Buster hops into her lap, giving her his patented Alert look, head cocked.

"Margot?"

"Sometimes when I look at them, I see how Mason would hurt them," she says, scratching Buster behind the ears.

Will has nothing to say to that, and just puts his arm around her. She leans into him and holds Buster. He usually doesn't like that, but he lets Margot do it for a long time as the tears roll down her face. At last he wriggles free, and she lets him, giggling as he hops to the floor and Winston presses his head against her knee as if to say that he will happily take all of Buster's unwanted cuddles for him.

"I mean, it also hurts to have to be glad that my only living relative, my fucking _twin_ , is in the ICU and probably dying, but I gave up on him a while ago."

"Good," Will growls before he can stop himself. He cringes as soon as it's out of his mouth, but Margot just nuzzles him.

"And that's why I like you," she drawls, and Will snorts in amusement before nuzzling into her hair. 

An Alpha with a pregnant Omega will always have a craving to scent them, to really bury their face in it and memorize every little pheromone marker and all all the changes, great and small. It's a good way to monitor their health. Margot takes it philosophically, and gives him a kiss on the cheek as he pulls back to look at her again.

"You're really sweet, but my boner belongs to Alana."

Will laughs until he coughs, and Margot grins at him. "Mine still owes some allegiance, but one can't dwell in the past."

"Don't make this weird, man," she says, and they both crack up again, cackling and snorting as they lean on each other for support, doubled over and nearly falling off the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls from the ooze* *belches up an update like that frog in Pan's Labyrinth* Sorry about the wait.


	28. Assessment

The next morning feels like the first normal one since Will had gotten the call to come to the hospital. He gets up and fixes breakfast for everyone, human and canine, and then takes the entire household for a walk. It's good to feel up to his usual routine, and to have Frederick fearlessly take his arm to get over some tree roots. Will smiles at him, and he goes slightly pink and looks away, his scent a soft cloud of smoky bashfulness. It's adorable, and Will really hopes that Lounds gets her shit together and comes to collect her Omega. 

It's starting to really get to him, plucking at his tenuous bond to Margot, who's walking at the edge of the pack while Will does his best to ignore that it's technically a very vulnerable position for a pregnant Omega to occupy. Never mind that there's nothing here to hurt her and emergency services to call if anything does manage to happen, Will's instincts crawl up and down his spine the whole time they're out. When they get back, Margot is kind enough to let Will wrap around her and cling a little while she makes her various medical appointments. Beyond prenatal care, she also has therapy to go to and needs to be monitored for the possible aftereffects of HI-96. 

She'll probably be fine, but it's yet another thing to worry about, and Will knows that he's carrying a little of the burnt-rubber smell of a fretting Alpha. It makes him feel ridiculous, but there's nothing he can do about it but shower twice a day and take deep breaths. The latter helps a lot, carrying in the smell of everyone healthy and calm. Even Franklyn, so constitutionally nervous. Now that things are on an even keel again, Will feels awful for not even testing the limits of Franklyn's impaired sense of smell. He had been tested for the class-action lawsuit against the suppressant manufacturer, but that was more than a decade ago and he may have recovered or lost new elements in that time. It's a bit like hearing, where certain tones and whole ranges of pitch can disappear, depending on the cause. 

Now, with lunch cooking and Margot settled comfortably on the couch and on the phone to Alana instead of a doctor's office or government agency, Will takes Franklyn out to the barn, which is one of the better places for this. There's privacy and no food smells to muffle or distract, just clean hay and faint, faint traces of Randall and Peter. Will's nose is better than average, and a person would have to be a lot sharper than Franklyn to be able to smell it.

Will hasn't had to use it in ages, but he has the full Scent Deficiency Assessment Kit, still in its little black case with the shoulder strap. He sets up while Franklyn looks around, curious about the barn and a little shy from the knowledge of its usual purpose.

"Grab that plastic chair, would you?" Will asks, and Franklyn brings it from the central corridor. 

Will isn't using the denning stall, of course. This is another mostly empty one, with nothing in it but a few big old engines Will has been tinkering with for years. There's another plastic chair in here already, so Franklyn sits down on the one he brought, looking, bright, expectant, and terrible nervous. Will smiles at him. There’s a part of Will that always melts for a distressed Omega, and Franklyn keeps it perpetually warm and ready to spill.

"It's okay," he says, wanting to scruff Franklyn, as usual. "Do you remember how this goes?"

"You give me swatches and then shake your head sadly when I can't place them," Franklyn says, and Will chuckles.

"You don't need my pity, you need adaptive equipment. Well, probably. We'll see how it goes."

Inside the kit are dozens of individually-wrapped swatches. The wrapping is medical-grade scent blocker, so even Will only smells a light, plasticky sweetness. The little envelopes are numerically labeled, and Will pulls out the cheat sheet even though almost all of them are pretty obvious. The very first card is pure bonding factor, the smell of a mother with their newborn child. This is a scent that people who are otherwise anosmic have reported being able to smell, and Franklyn smiles when Will opens the envelope.

"Bonding factor," he says, and Will smiles.

"Yeah," he says, and tucks it away. The swatches go in ascending order of difficulty, like a hearing test using lower and lower volumes. Franklyn can identify the whole first third within normal times, but the strain starts to show as they get into the second tier scents, things like Beta mediator pheromone and some of the finer anxiety scents, not the reek of true fear, almost as easy to smell as bonding factor. Up at the first tier, Franklyn is nearly hopeless, missing huge portions of the more complicated emotional registers. 

He has to bring the swatches right up to his face, and he comes up with answers like, "...I think there's some bonding factor in here?" He's holding the swatch of a subordinate Omega seeking friendship, and it wrings Will's heart to think of an Omega who can't smell that. He does not sadly shake his head, however. He makes a note of every swatch that Franklyn can't smell or can't identify. It's not the worst case he has ever seen, but it's pretty bad. Franklyn looks almost guilty, like an obedient child bringing home a bad grade. This time Will does scruff him. He can't possibly help himself, getting up from his chair and crouching on one knee in front of Franklyn, reaching around and putting the palm of his hand on the back of Franklyn's neck, very warm and just a little damp. Will grips gently, and chuckles.

"Sorry, Franklyn," he says, "but I can't stand watching an Omega blame themselves for something that's not their fault."

"Does it smell bad?" Franklyn asks, blushing a little.

"Nah," Will says, his hand still resting on Franklyn's neck. "Just a bit like ashes. But it's a sad smell." The ashes are fading as he speaks, and Franklyn's shy smile makes him grin. "That's better," he says softly, and gives Franklyn a light squeeze before letting go. "Come on, we can talk in the house." And look up different makes of chemosensors. In light of these results, Will can't believe that Franklyn doesn't already have at least one, but he has never seen any sign, not even the habitual and automatic glance toward the place where a wrist-mounted one used to be.. He thinks about it as they make their way across the yard, and is grateful that Franklyn isn't any closer to noseblind than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think I apologized for the wait on that last one! I have a better outline now, though, so here's hoping I start to suck less. :D


	29. Occupational Hazards Of Being An Alpha

Will has heard many stories of Omega abuse and neglect, but he is so furious to learn that Franklyn's goddamn family left him to be scent deficient without help for decades because chemosensors were 'too conspicuous,' that he has to leave the room. One of the things Franklyn definitely can smell is the protective rage of an Alpha, something almost as basic as bonding factor, and Will doesn't want to scare him. So he hides in the bathroom for a few minutes, and washes the most accessible scent zones before going back to join Franklyn by the fire.

"Sorry about that," he says, and opens up his laptop. "There are a lot of different units, and many stealth choices for people who care about being conspicuous."

"I don't mind if people know," Franklyn says. "Hell, it might make them give me a break, like how people don't expect a person with a white stick to drive them to the airport."

Will smiles. "That's a sensible way to look at it, but with improving technology they just keep getting smaller." 

He enters an image search for 'personal chemosensor' just to give Franklyn an idea of what's out there. Sonic ones for Omegas that are blind and scent deficient, tiny units that fit onto eyeglasses, and the more conventional watch and pendant styles. There are numeric readouts and the usual emoticons, the color stripe style like an Impressionist rainbow, brushed aluminum casings and pink plastic ones, and all the different professional grades. Franklyn is fascinated, meeting the more harmless and true Omega stereotypes as usual. Omegas do like to shop, and Franklyn is no exception, happy to take the laptop from Will and start doing some searches of his own.

Naturally, Will can't tell the others the results of Franklyn's assessment, but Franklyn does it himself, as hopelessly candid as ever. Randall scruffs him the way Will did, and Peter presses their cheeks together, perfuming the air with a pheromone mix that's probably about thirty-seven percent lost on Franklyn. Still, he hugs Peter, and thanks him for caring. Tobias is upstairs practicing and Frederick and Margot are napping, but something wakes her up and she comes downstairs to cluck in sympathy and give Franklyn a hug. The Verger family never been anything like all-Beta, but Margot can relate to being treated like shit for being an Omega. She has also had scent deficient classmates at the various exclusive private schools she attended in her youth, and can offer a slightly more educated opinion on Franklyn's options.

Even with such a clear assessment, Will isn't actually a doctor, and Franklyn needs to make his degree of impairment a matter of public record. Mercifully his and Margot's appointments are in the same building, so Will is only slightly miserable at leaving his pregnant Omega to give the assessment results to Franklyn's doctor. At least the staff are kind, and the prenatal clinic has more Omegas than anything else, all of them sending puffs of gentle, caring scent over Will. They're used to fretful Alphas, and no one registers any surprise when he comes sneaking over from the scent clinic fifteen minutes into Franklyn's appointment. It's a wrench to leave Franklyn alone, too, but the doctor is a fellow Omega and has been very kind and patient with both of them.

"Ms. Verger is doing just fine, Mr. Graham," the receptionist coos at him. He's a small Omega with a sweet voice and a smile that reaches his eyes, so Will can't really help calming down just a little. "She also told us to let you in if you showed up," he adds. "She's in room five." Will gives him a sheepish grin, following his gesture to the correct door, which opens onto examination rooms four through eight. Will knocks lightly on the closed door of five, and Margot opens it, smiling at him.

"I had a feeling you'd turn up," she says, and Will can't stop himself from pressing his face into her neck, just for a moment. He waits with her for the doctor to come in. It's a female Beta, so while she can't soothe Will the way an Omega would, her presence is at least not an irritant. This is a very good thing, since Margot needs a blood draw, the very idea of which makes Will’s skin crawl even though he knows it's very necessary. At least the preliminary examinations don't show anything alarming.

"I have a feeling that you won't have too many problems," the doctor says. "Never say never, but you look good, you sound good, and you smell good. Odds are you'll just need to take care of yourself like any other expectant mother, maybe a few extra supplements."

There's a lab downstairs to take care of phlebotomy requests from the various offices, and Will walks Margot down. He probably shouldn't be here for the actual stick, and lets Margot shoo him off to check in on Franklyn. Franklyn is doing fine, reading a National Geographic in the waiting room. He has been advised to get a good chemosensor as soon as possible, and has a script for one of the new olfactants, which may allow him to detect things he can't now. They don't work for everyone and the side effects can be awful, but for someone neglected as long as Franklyn, it's definitely worth a shot.

Will does his best not to cling to Margot when they collect her at last, very faintly scented with the nerve-wracking tang of blood. Loading both of his precious Omegas into the car helps Will a little, and when they get home Peter greets him with a tight hug, soothing scent washing over him. This is one of Tobias's usual practice times, but he's lurking around the kitchen, trying not to look like he has been waiting for Franklyn. Now he comes forward with a cup of milky coffee, apologizing for his inattention yesterday. Franklyn just beams and thanks him for the coffee, settling on the couch to start chemosensor shopping in earnest.


	30. Coffee And Matchmaking

Between helping Franklyn and Margot with their appointments and figuring out that even though the olfactant suggests taking it with a glass of milk, that Franklyn needs something more substantial to prevent a stomachache, and that Margot needs to take extra folic acid and iron, and that Tobias's suppressants need an overhaul that he's been too polite to mention, Will doesn't have a lot of time to worry about Frederick and Freddie. She's hanging back again, but is at least calling Frederick, which keeps him from being completely miserable. Apparently she was the last person he worked out a heat with, so for the medically planned one coming up, he's going to crave her.

Once Will finds that out, he realizes that he has to be more proactive, and gives Hannibal a call. It's the lazy heart of the afternoon, when it's almost as warm as summer, and Will is curled up in the hay loft for privacy. It takes Hannibal a moment to answer, but he sounds glad to hear from Will.

"So I know this is kinda weird since it isn't the 1800s anymore, but do you have any idea what Freddie's intentions are?"

"Oh dear," Hannibal murmurs. "I hadn't realized that it was quite at that point."

"He's running out of time to fool around with this crap. She needs to be definite: make a heat appointment, give him a good bite, _something_."

Hannibal sighs. "Ms. Lounds is remarkably out of touch with her own instincts. This may take careful management."

That is how Will ends sneaking out for coffee with Hannibal. Since he tends to take any interested clients with him when he runs errands, he's worried about coming up with a reason for doing this one alone, but it's a cold, grey day, and even the dogs are only a little interested. Will charges them to stay and guard the house, and drives off with an almost palpable sense of the clandestine.

Foodie that he is, Hannibal has chosen their meeting point, a little local cafe located approximately equidistant from their residences. Will pulls into the tiny parking lot and finds a place, narrowly avoiding a puddle as he hops out. He's not sure what Lecter drives when it's just him, but the sleek, black car near the door seems like him. Will pauses just inside the building, and looks around. A little gust of ambergris and good wine makes him look around, and there's Hannibal, waving from a booth. Will waves back, and shuffles into line to make his order.

Coffee shops are kind of wasted on Will, who at the height of luxury and exoticism will sometimes get an espresso. Now he just gets black coffee and a pastry, selected almost at random, and carries both over to Hannibal, who is about halfway through a miniature cheesecake, and a some tall and complicated drink.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Will says, sliding into the booth, and Hannibal smiles.

"You're on time, I merely arrived early to get the last cheesecake."

"Good to know," Will says, and takes a cautious nibble of his own pastry, finding it very good and filled with some kind of almond spread. Hannibal lets him get settled, and then starts to tell him as much as he can about Freddie without an actual breach of confidentiality. 

He pieces it together slowly, that Lounds is one of those hopeless repression cases, taught from earliest childhood to stop acting like a goddamn animal. The backed up instincts always burst out somehow, and in Freddie's case it's a matter of public record. Will digs it up in the middle of the night and fills in the details at last. It's a classic Alpha PTSD reaction and he winces as he reads, having been in far too many similar states in his life. 

Will has just been lucky enough not to be in public when he completely falls apart. Freddie had not, and only ended up not doing time for assault because of security footage of the gas station she tore apart that showed her efforts to get away from the looming male Alpha that had triggered her terrified rage. During the Gideon incident, she hadn't been able to do anything but talk, watch in horror, and run the respirator. 

As often happens with an Alpha forced into inaction at the time of violence against their Omega, someone smells and moves just wrong and all that deferred fight comes pouring out all over everything. In an Alpha with Lounds's upbringing, it tends to make them batten down the hatches on their instinctual reactions even more, and Will groans at the thought of matchmaking with such a creature.

"Ugh," he says, "they're both of age, there's not much we can even do."

Hannibal chuckles. "There are still a few things," he says, stirring his drink. He really does have beautiful hands, and Will watches them move in an oddly dreamy state. He shakes it off, leaning forward to begin their council of war in earnest. Neither of them can stay too long, least of all Hannibal, with a completely justified ankle monitor case like Stammets, but by the time they walk out to the parking lot together, they have at least the beginning of a plan.

Will drives home as quickly as he can without really tempting fate, and is entirely too glad to see the house still standing, with a cozy ribbon of smoke curling out of the chimney. The dogs come swarming to greet him, and Franklyn is right behind them, with a shortlist of possible chemosensors for Will's perusal. They sit at the kitchen table and go over the options one by one, the others wandering in and out around them, to make snacks and offer their advice, most of which Franklyn has heard already. Tobias is the only member of the household that doesn't come near them, and Will's heart goes out to him. After Franklyn has some idea how to read the scents around him, Tobias's terribly-kept secret will be out to the one person who doesn't know already.


	31. Chemosensors And Confessions

Franklyn pays for overnight shipping when he finally does decide, and Will has to deal with a delivery guy in a state of undress and pre-coffee. At least he's a Beta, and Will can't blame Franklyn for wanting to get the thing as fast as possible. He has to sign for it, and comes shuffling down in a set of wine-red pajamas with gold piping, so adorable that Will can hardly stand it. He fixes Franklyn a cup of coffee as he unwraps the chemosensor. 

It's one of the wrist-mounted models, like a watch with an enormous face. It has the standard digital readout with emoticons, and comes with a booklet on how it works, how to adjust the calibration, and what some of the more obscure emoticons mean, since scent can get awfully complicated. Franklyn won't need to mess with the calibration except to enter Randall as an OtA, and they can do that later. For now Franklyn fastens it to his left wrist and switches it on.

"Oh, wow," he breathes, watching it tally up the house's residents. The main readout shows a smiley face and an outline heart in the bright pink of a healthy Alpha. The outline heart means nonsexual affection. If Will were Tobias, it would be solid and Omega cyan. "This is so cool," Franklyn whispers, wide eyes full of wonder.

For the next few days, Franklyn is fully engaged in learning to use his chemosensor, as fascinated as any kid with a new toy. Everyone in the house is pleased to answer his silly and intrusive questions about the readout, understanding that what should have happened when Franklyn was about four has been deferred until this late date. The only person who doesn't spend a lot of time patiently explaining things to Franklyn is Tobias, who hides from him like a cat from a running vacuum cleaner. Unlike a cat he makes excuses, but they're all pretty lame, practice when he has dedicated time each day, extremely unconvincing headaches, and once a sudden request to borrow Will's car to go check on his shop, in the hands of an able assistant for weeks without any concern.

Not being the very sharpest knife in the drawer and having so much to call his attention, Franklyn doesn't notice Tobias's frantic escapes, other than to toddle up to his room with painkillers and juice whenever he claims to have a headache. It's kind of sweet, if exasperatingly high school. Will knows that he'll have to intervene, and just isn't sure when or how. He calls Hannibal during a lull in the action, standing on the porch and watching the leaves fall in little showers of gold.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal murmurs, and for a moment Will can smell a complicated ambergris sweetness, even though Hannibal is miles away. He shivers, and grimaces at himself for being stupid.

"Hey," he says. "I guess I'm calling for your professional opinion."

"Oh?"

"Now that Franklyn has a chemosensor, one of the others is hiding from him. I'm not sure if I should leave them to it or not."

"I would interfere," Hannibal says, "but I can be a very interfering person."

They talk for a while longer before Will has to hang up and walk back inside, where everyone but Tobias is still finishing lunch. Tobias vanished upstairs some time ago, and Franklyn is sitting there stinking the place up with worry. Will goes to him and scruffs him, knowing now that the time has come to interfere. Franklyn hasn't smelled like this since he arrived, and he whimpers a little, leaning into Will's hand.

"Will, I don't think Tobias has eaten a whole meal in the last four days," he says, sounding and smelling more dismal than ever. "I'm worried about him."

"I know," Will says, "I've been watching." He isn't sure if he should mention catching Tobias raiding the fridge in the night, when there's a much lower risk of running into anyone. Will sighs. "I'll go talk to him, okay?"

"Okay," Franklyn says softly, wine-like sweetness curling through the air. Out of his line of sight, Frederick rolls his eyes heavenward. Will shoots him a very stern look, and lets go of Franklyn to give Margot an affectionate sniff and to just barely scruff Frederick and Peter in passing as he heads for the stairs.

Of course Tobias is lurking in his and Margot's room with the lights off, sawing at his cello to create low, discordant notes that remind Will of the sounds of a disgruntled cow. "Tobias," Will says, closing the door behind him, "this is past fucking ridiculous."

"You have no idea how I feel," Tobias growls, and Will snorts.

"I'm not the one who needs a chemosensor. I know you want Franklyn. Everyone in this house knows you want Franklyn except for Franklyn. That's hardly fair."

Tobias growls, but has no real argument to offer, and Will comes closer, his irritation melting a little at how genuinely frightened Tobias smells. "Honey, just tell him," Will says. "Whatever happens, it will be _over_. Franklyn isn't cruel. Hell, he's worried about you because he thinks you're not eating. The worst he'll say say is 'no thank you, I hope we can be friends.' Just do it."

"Fffucck, you're right," Tobias mutters, staring at the floor.

"You can hide in the barn to nurse your broken heart if it goes badly, and I won't let anyone bother you."

"Thanks, Will," he says softly, and stands up, looking like a man determined to go to the gallows with dignity. Will leads him to the office to lock up the cello, and promises to stay nearby in case Tobias needs to immediately reclaim it to make more brooding noises. They come back downstairs after the table is cleared and the crowd has dispersed to find Frederick teaching Margot to fold origami cranes while Randall and Peter are curled up on the couch together, Randall reading to Peter, since reading to himself is so much harder since his brain injury. He can do it, but it's a strain, and Will is pleased to see him able to relax and really enjoy a story. A glance out the window tells him that Franklyn is on the porch with some of the dogs, and he does his best not to bodily shove Tobias out the door.


	32. Chemosensors And Confessions II

Once Tobias and Franklyn are alone on the porch, Frederick quietly gets up and locks the front door. Will can't say that the thought hadn't occurred to him, and he laughs.

"Really," Frederick says, more than a little huffy, "this has gone far past being ridiculous."

"It's true," Will says, "but if he starts pounding I gotta let him in or lose my license."

"Somehow," Margot says, drifting over to the window, "I don't think that will come up." 

Will goes to join her, looking over her shoulder to see Tobias kneeling on the porch, speaking very seriously to Franklyn, who is sitting on the glider and mopping at his eyes with a handkerchief. Just as he's about to say that this doesn't look all that auspicious, Franklyn tugs Tobias up onto the glider. A moment later, Franklyn is in Tobias's lap, both of them holding each other tightly. Will nods in satisfaction, and turns away from the window. Frederick goes and unlocks the door, looking endearingly thrilled for his friend.

Randall and Peter are of course a little self-involved as newly mated people tend to be, but they're happy for Franklyn and Tobias as well, even gentle Peter near the end of his patience with Tobias's avoidant behavior. Will wanders into the kitchen to be sure all the dishes are done, and everyone is very quiet, letting things play out on the porch.

Will sighs, looking out of the kitchen at his clients. He really should take them out again, even if his nesting Alpha instincts want to put Margot somewhere safe and feed her and not do much else. Nothing like an emergency breeding to fuck up a guy's plans. He chuckles, and goes back out to the living room to settle by Margot and take in her barely-altered scent.

Right when the dogs are beginning to get desperate, the front door opens, and they can surge out to greet Tobias and Franklyn and then past them to pee on things and run on the grass. Tobias looks incredibly sheepish, and Franklyn is glowing, holding Tobias's hand like he'll never let go.

"Welcome back," Will says softly, and Tobias grimaces, brown skin darkening with a blush. 

Franklyn beams at him. "Hi, Will!"

Will chuckles. "Hi. You boys get things sorted out?"

"We did," he says, and Tobias nods. He doesn't look nearly as happy, but Will has to chalk most of that up to embarrassment. The two of them go upstairs without another word, and Margot laughs.

"Hey, Frederick," she says, "hope you don't mind rooming with me."

"It does seem to be inevitable, yes," he says. "It's too bad, I've enjoyed having Franklyn around."

"I can't claim his expertise at beard-trimming," she says, "but I'll do your makeup."

Frederick chuckles, giving her that sweet, genuine smile that has made Will like him so much better. "That's some compensation, definitely."

Randall has ignored all developments in favor of reading to Peter, but they come to the end of their book, and Randall closes it, looking up. "I'm just glad Tobias is done stinking up the place," he says, and Will laughs. A pining and hopeless Omega has a very particular smell, and while not unpleasant in itself, it lingers on surfaces and clings to the palate. Will is pretty tired of it, himself.

There's no sign of Tobias or Franklyn until dinner, when they come downstairs, still embarrassed and glowing respectively, but less obviously so. Will welcomes them to the table and loads their plates while the others gently tease them.

"S-so," Peter says, with a mischievous little smile, "g-got, got your chemosensor f-fixed?"

Franklyn laughs, going pink. "Yep!" He turns to Tobias, trying to look stern and failing completely. "You nearly cost me three hundred dollars, Tobias, and that's with good insurance."

"I already said I was sorry for saying I thought it might be broken," he says very evenly, and Randall laughs. Tobias glares at him, and he just smiles.

"We've all been living a badly-written sitcom for the past week," Randall says, "you have to make allowances."

Tobias snorts lightly, but relaxes, passing the butter to Franklyn. "I suppose so," he says, and smiles fondly at the meticulous way Franklyn butters his baked potato.

After dinner, Will takes Tobias and Franklyn aside and offers them the use of the barn, should they feel they need it. They just thank him and move off, but Will has a feeling they will need it. Two Omegas will often trigger each other's heat in the early stages of a new bond, and with all the buildup these two have had, Will puts their chances at about eighty-five percent. They'll get there when they get there, he supposes.

Now that his household is no longer hosting some terrible sitcom plot, Will can turn his focus back to transferring Randall. He's smelling more Alpha by the minute, and soon he's going to pass the hormone threshold where Will would be legally required to move him, anyway. He calls Hannibal to be sure that he still has a bed open. He does, and Will passes his work phone to Randall, so that he and Hannibal can speak directly.

Will always gets more than a little depressed when it's time to send one of his clients either out into the world or to another institution, and he sits on the porch and sips whiskey, watching the leaves dance on the cold breeze. It's nearly Halloween, and he reminds himself to pick something up for the handful of kids who brave the dark fields every year.

"Hey, Will?" Randall asks, pulling Will out of his reverie. "Here's your phone."

"Thanks," Will says, pocketing it. "You think you'll get along all right with Hannibal?"

"Yeah," Randall says, and sighs, taking a seat next to Will. "I just wish I could smuggle Peter in or something."

Will chuckles. "He won't need to stay here much longer, anyway. You can visit him at his own place."

"I hope so," Randall says softly, and Will pats his shoulder. Randall sighs. "I should probably call my endo, I'm due for a checkup anyway."

"I was going to ask about that," Will says, with a rueful smile. "I haven't been knocked completely stupid by the situation with Margot."

"I wouldn't blame you if you had been," Randall says, and Will laughs.


	33. Halloween Night And Transfer Paperwork

As the head of a therapeutic residence, Will has a relationship with the holidays that a kindergarten teacher would understand very well. It's cold to do nothing, but he has to take care not to overexcite or overfeed his charges. At least this group is pretty high-functioning, and can just vote on activities for Halloween night. The winning schedule is horror movies and the vast majority of the candy, in between handing the rest out to the five kids a year that Will averages. He's glad that they're not getting too ambitious, and of course everyone is willing to accommodate Frederick's request that they not watch anything with stabbing or surgery.

"Of course not," Franklyn says, hugging Frederick. It's nice to see that happen and not smell vinegar from Tobias. Will hadn't even realized how much he was making the house stink of jealousy until it finally stopped.

With Frederick in mind, they lean heavily to ghost movies. Will is pretty sure that he's too hormonal to watch 'The Changeling,' but he doesn't mention it. It's a classic, as Franklyn explains, eyes so bright and happy that Will doesn't have the heart to get in the way. Tobias professes an engaging ignorance of the whole genre, and Franklyn is off. Like a lot of people who are terrified in day-to-day life, Franklyn loves horror movies, and he also has enough cinematic and academic vocabulary to go into why, while the others make their choices. One film per person will certainly get them through the night and probably into the next day, but it's the only really fair way, just like the six small jack-o-lanterns on the porch.

Will does turn out to be too hormonal to watch 'The Changeling,' and sits out on the porch with the dogs, eating peanut butter cups and watching for children in the fields. Usually they don't start showing up until fairly late, bold wanderers who range far and are mostly getting too old for this. Now there's no one, and that's just fine with him. The dogs and the jack-o-lanterns are excellent company.

He doesn't look around as the door opens, knowing who it is by that faint smell of not-really-sugared-violets. "This seat taken?" Margot asks, coming up beside the glider.

"Nope," Will says, and shifts a little to give her more room. She sits down next to him, and murmurs affectionate greetings to the dogs, petting the nearest ones.

"You okay?" she murmurs.

"Yeah," Will says quietly.

"It's a pretty good movie, but I can't deal with the ghost's father."

Will nods. "I can't deal with the mate and child getting killed off. Too hormonal."

She laughs, leaning on him. "You poor thing."

"I think I'm holding up all right," he murmurs, resting his head on hers and breathing in her scent. They sit like that for a long time, watching the yellow moon. Will can't help a little jolt when his phone rings, but doesn't dislodge Margot. He manages to fish the phone out of his pocket to answer it without making her move too much.

"Will Graham."

"Good evening, Will," Hannibal says, and the phantom smell of him washes over Will. He does his best not to shiver.

"Evening. What's up?"

"Not much, I just wanted to wish you joy of the night. Is your household celebrating?"

"In our low-key way." He explains the restrained festivities to Hannibal, who laughs, but in a friendly way.

"Here it's all pumpkin soup, mulled wine, and scary stories," he says, and Will smiles. He doesn't want to leave Margot out, though, so hangs up as soon as he courteously can.

She smiles at him. "You're sweet, Will, but you'll never close that way."

"I feel like I have enough on my plate right now," he says, and she laughs.

"You guys all right?" Randall asks, cracking the door open.

"We are," Will says, "we're just not up for 'The Changeling' right now."

"Well, the credits are rolling, come on back in."

They do, and Will goes straight to Franklyn, who is sitting in a little cloud of anxiety, even with Tobias's arm around him. Will smiles at him and radiates some very friendly pheromones, pleased to see the chemosensor readout register them correctly. Franklyn smiles back, and helps Will make a batch of popcorn while the others select the next movie.

As usual, there are only a handful of trick-or-treaters all night, and Peter and Randall take care of them, spending most of the evening on the porch, leaning on each other in the glider and talking softly. It really will be a wrench to separate them, but Will doesn't want to end up in front of the licensing board and Randall does need some time in an Alpha residence, to really settle into his true dynamic.

Will spends the first of November on the phone to Randall's social worker and endocrinologist, and with Hannibal. There's a whole crazy quilt of paperwork for different agencies to be done, as well as a blood test for Randall, and Will's official inspection of Hannibal's residence, required in cases like this.

Thankfully, they have Franklyn on their side. He has a natural gift for forms, and also has beautiful handwriting. He sits at the kitchen table with a little plate of cheese and fruit, humming to himself as he churns through stacks of forms in half the time it would take Will. Tobias sits nearby for moral support, eating fruit and massaging Franklyn's hand when he gets writer's cramp. Randall is at the other side of the table, reading everything before he signs and dates it, Peter sitting at his feet, resting his head on Randall's knee. It's a sweet little scene, and soothes Will immensely.

Will goes alone to make his inspection, and it's even more of a wrench to leave his clients than it usually is. He has no idea how he's going to survive Margot's later pregnancy, and tries not to think about that as he pulls up to Hannibal's house. He rings the bell and Abigail answers the door, the welcoming smell of baking wafting out around her.

"Hi," she chirps, "you here to make sure we'll take good care of Randall?"

"Pretty much," Will says, and steps inside.


	34. Cinnamon Rolls

In a house as well-kept as Hannibal's, the inspection is really just a matter of form. Will is glad of that, because Hannibal's scent hangs everywhere, mingling with a batch of cinnamon rolls and leaving Will at the terrible and desolate intersection of hungry and horny. He stalks through the house, finding that there are plenty of bathrooms, that all the bedrooms look very comfortable (and Randall will be able to have his own room here, something Will hasn't been able to offer,) and that Hannibal has even put a small collection of animal bones in the empty one, for Randall to catalog and reassemble the way he likes to do. 

The blanket on the bed smells like Hannibal, and it's all Will can do not to bury his face in it. As it is he stands in the doorway and just breathes for a long time. A flash of cassia makes Will turn around just in time to prevent Freddie Lounds from prodding him with one finger. 

He catches her wrist, and doesn't bother to keep the growl out of his voice. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe," she says, so coolly that it makes him feel bad. He shouldn't be trying to out-Alpha poor Freddie, after what she has been through. He lets her go.

"What do you need?" he asks, much more gently.

"...I guess your blessing?" This close, her scent is almost crackling with subordinate Alpha anxiety, and that little edge of aggression that keeps a person afloat above the fear. Will can relate.

"You've had it for months," he says. "Please, fucking collect Frederick. He's been waiting for you this entire time." She's good at hiding her surprise, but he sees it for a moment in her wide eyes, and she can't do anything about the cloud of pleased and nervous scent that wafts outward from her skin. Will smiles, and puts a hand on her shoulder, because you don't scruff another Alpha. "Ask Frederick if he wants you there, he'll answer."

"...Okay," she says softly, and scurries away.

Will goes back downstairs and does his best not to actually drool as Hannibal carefully drizzles white icing over the warm rolls, his own rich scent filling the kitchen. "Is my residence up to standard?" he asks softly, and Will just nods, not quite trusting his voice. "Wonderful. Would you like a cinnamon roll?"

Will must nod, or something, because he ends up sitting at Hannibal's kitchen counter., eating an oven-warm cinnamon roll with a glass of milk as Hannibal explains his usual preparations for a new resident, that Randall's room is nearly finished, but that he'll try to find some flowers and a better piece of wall art.

Will chuckles. "You've seen my place, Hannibal. I couldn't possibly complain about that."

"I suppose not," he says, and takes a bakery box from one of the cabinets, methodically packing a dozen cinnamon rolls. "These are for you and your clients," he says, when Will gives it a curious look.

"...Oh. Uh, thank you!" 

There's a very old tradition about Omegas expressing interest by giving Alphas sweets, but it hasn't meant much for at least a hundred and fifty years and this is a group gift and Will really, really needs to calm down. He should get his own hormone levels checked after he gets Tobias's seen to. Hannibal just smiles at him, and then plates up another roll for Stammets as he comes shuffling in, wrapped in a blanket that's coated with Hannibal's scent. Will fights a ridiculous urge to growl at him. He has nothing to be possessive about, and it's Hannibal's business who gets to drown themselves in that rich, dark scent, with its strong base of ambergris and musk fading into caressing little edges of that sweetness like good red wine. Hannibal smells as rich as healthy blood, and Will tries to breathe through his mouth, for all the good it does him.

On the drive home, Will rolls down all the windows and tries not to think about Hannibal. It's pretty futile, and he reminds himself again to get checked. After transferring Randall and getting Tobias checked. His clients always come first. That's a large part of why he doesn't throw the whole box of cinnamon rolls out the window. They're full of Hannibal's scent, the way homemade baked goods always carry some of the baker. They're a delicious torment for Will, but when he gets back, the others can enjoy them as intended. 

Randall hand-feeds Peter and no one even teases them about it, the transfer so close now. For the two days they have left under the same roof, Will is pleased to see that everyone is very considerate of their bond. Franklyn helps Randall pack, because he is remarkably good at it, and Frederick gives Randall a book on intradynamic Alpha bonding, which makes him laugh. Frederick gets huffy, as is his wont at times like this, and Randall just lightly scruffs him, which makes him shut up and smile sheepishly.

Personally, Will hates long goodbyes, but when the time comes, Peter wants to ride along. Will drives them both over to Hannibal's house just after breakfast, and they fill his car with depressing scents, even with the windows down, the heater going full blast against the chill of an autumn morning. They're in the back together, and hold hands the whole way. They're not maudlin, at least. They're just quiet together, and they can't help the way they smell.

Hannibal is on the steps with a mug of coffee, waiting for them. He smiles when they get out, and bows to Peter, who bows back, startled and pleased by the old-fashioned gesture. They follow him into the house, and Hannibal lets Peter go upstairs to do his own fussing over Randall's room. Hannibal's clients are gathered in the sitting room, engaged in the kind of purposeful activity that dynamic surrogates like to see. Abigail is working math problems with Stammets's help, Dimmond is writing something in the kind of little leather notebook that makes Will wonder if he knows how pretentious he looks, and Lounds is intently texting someone. Will hopes like hell that it's Frederick, because there's only so much he can take.


	35. Transferring Randall

Since everyone has already been introduced, the others just wave to Randall and let him escape upstairs. It's all very well to say that bonding pairs can't be unsupervised except to run out a heat (after the proper blood tests,) but basic human decency dictates that Will hang around for a good fifteen minutes before collecting Peter.

Hannibal smiles at Will like he's reading his mind. "Coffee?" he murmurs, and Will just nods and follows him into the kitchen.

"It may not look like it," he says, "but I have a feeling that the Freds are making progress."

"That makes one of us," Will mutters, and Hannibal pats his shoulder.

"Trust me," he says, and Will grimaces, because he does and that's terrible. He can't think of anything to say, so he says nothing, gazing down into his coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. 

Hannibal lets him, and Will finally looks up, feeling his face flushing. "Sorry. I don't really know how to people outside of certain very limited contexts."

"You're also on the edge of what will be a very impressive rut if you don't take care," Hannibal says, and Will does his best not to choke.

"What?"

Hannibal leans in and sniffs him delicately, and Will's heart pounds. "It's close, Will. Take care of yourself."

"...I will," Will mutters, and hides behind his coffee cup again. Fucking great, of course he has to actually start stinking of how much he wants Hannibal. At least Hannibal just lets him be quiet, and doesn't try to follow when he goes up for Peter.

Peter and Randall are on his bed, just holding each other, and Will clears his throat loudly, knocking on the doorjamb and giving them a moment to put themselves back together. Both of them have red, suspiciously shiny eyes, but they're not actually crying right now, and manage to say their goodbyes with something like calm. Randall walks them all the way back to the door, of course, and gives Peter a last kiss at the threshold, rubbing his cheek along Peter's as they part. It's killing Will to watch, of course, but he lets them take their time, going ahead to the car and switching on the heater as he waits another minute or so for Peter, who joins him at last, and looks back at Randall as Will pulls away from the curb.

"I know I'll-I'll be, be okay, b-b-but I d-don't kn-know about, about Randall," he says, and Will sighs, reaching over to blindly scruff him for just a moment.

"He'll be fine," he says. "He won't mope himself sick, and if he tries, Hannibal will straighten him out."

Peter chuckles. "I g-guess so," he says, and turns on the radio, looking for bluegrass. He finds some and sings along for the rest of the way, his stammer disappearing in song.

With Randall actually installed in an Alpha residence, Will's next job is to make sure that Tobias has actually made an appointment about his suppressants. He has, for the day after tomorrow at his own preferred Omega clinic. It's one of those gleaming, hypermodern facilities for rich people, and Will is glad that he doesn't have to go. Tobias is a voluntary client, can drive himself, and Will has no assessment to present on him. His scent is just a little bit metallic from suppressing for so long with Quell, but the medical staff will smell that for themselves. Quell is all right, but Will has a feeling that it's too heavy for Tobias, and it's too heavy for most people without breaks.

Will has a Heat Plan form out for Tobias when he gets back, and he grimaces at it as he follows Will into the office. "How nice to be anticipated," he says, voice dripping with venom. Will chuckles, and gestures for Tobias to sit down in the other chair, settling behind his desk, where he so seldom has cause to be. "Yes," Tobias says, "I do have to run out a natural heat before going on Pax."

"So how do you want to do it?" Tobias's options at this point are to choose a partner, ask for sedation, or call up a professional heat surrogate, and Will isn't sure which he'll choose.

Tobias sighs, and flushes darkly, staring down at his hands, folded in his lap. "...I want Franklyn," he admits, "but I haven't asked him."

"No time like the present," Will says, and calls Franklyn in. He comes trotting up the stairs, a little bit breathless, and stands by Tobias's chair, looking stunned when Will explains the situation to him.

"I-I'd be honored," is what he finally manages to say, and it's dopey but so earnest that Will loves him for it. 

Will gets both signatures before he lets them flee, hand in hand and adorably self-conscious. Will chuckles, and faxes and files everything, making sure that he has two Omega heat forms paperclipped together for when the time comes. The Heat Plan doesn't need to be witnessed like the forms filled out on the occasion itself. He has plenty of Omega strips for their blood tests, and locks the office with the sense that one thing is taken care of.

Will may be on the edge of a hard rut, but feeling like he has fulfilled his duties to his Omegas always calms him down. He whistles as he cooks lunch for the household, and is delighted to have Frederick help. No one's scent is quite as good as Hannibal's, but Frederick smells very pleasant these days, his body healing and his mood so much improved by Freddie's frequent calls. There's a nice little seaside note to Frederick, and Will appreciates the salty-sweet quality it gives him.

"Has Lounds been behaving?" Will asks, and Frederick blushes slightly and gives an affected little cough in an obvious bid to buy time.

"That depends upon your criteria for good behavior," Frederick says, and Will chuckles.

"I just want to be sure that she's been letting you know she cares if you live or die and listening to you."

"She has," Frederick says softly, with a sweet little puff of pleased Omega scent.

"Good," Will mutters, "I don't need to kick her ass."

"No, you need to be nice when she comes to visit." He sniffs delicately. "Even if you are extremely hormonal."


	36. In Which Will Takes Care Of Everyone But Himself

Like most people who stop suppressing after using something too heavy for too long, Tobias goes off within a week. Frankyn's chemosensor lets him know when it starts, and by the time Tobias is demanding that Will do the blood test before he gets any more irrational, Franklyn has tapered off of his own suppressants. He smells like what's called quasiheat, a state of heightened fertility and arousal that's about a quarter as hot as the real thing.

Will has had clients work out their heats alone, and the Tobias and Franklyn aren't Will's first double-O couple, so he owns a set of knotting dildos in the usual size range, and some bite clamps as well. If an Omega's partner isn't in a position to give them the neck bite almost all of them love, the clamp can be applied to the neck or shoulder to simulate it. There are condoms for the dildos and the whole outfit can be boiled and/or bleached, but Will still feels a bit odd about it. But hell, a good knotting dildo is expensive, and so are quality bite clamps.

Getting the stall ready is always important to Will, but he sets it up as quickly as he can, because Tobias is sitting in the kitchen, reeking of heat and growling at every second of delay. When Will comes back in, Franklyn looks almost afraid of Tobias, watching him with huge eyes, but he smells delicious, his own quasiheat getting hotter. Tobias snarls at Will the way a rival Alpha would, and Will just laughs.

"I'm not gonna get in your way, Tobias," he says gently, and quickly does both blood tests. Margot and Frederick come in to witness the signatures when Will calls them. Tobias is headed out of the rational range, but he's still legal to sign and to accept Franklyn, whose blood tests hotter than Will realized, but still within legal ranges. He blushes and squirms and seems to take a great deal of comfort from Frederick patting his shoulders and petting his hair. It's a sign of real progress that all Tobias does is grumble quietly. 

At last Will can lead his precious Omegas out to the barn. They walk quickly, hand in hand, and their mingled scents make him more than a little light-headed, an exquisite musk so sweet that his mouth is watering by the time he has them in the stall and has made sure that they know where everything is. Franklyn practically blushes himself to death over the dildos, but Tobias just nods, the air around him crackling. He's almost Alpha about wanting to shove Will out of there, and Will keeps his explanation of the rules short and succinct. Franklyn makes a little squeaking noise at the idea of being monitored, but Will is pretty sure it's turning him on.

Somehow, Tobias manages to be polite while Will speaks, and Will returns the courtesy by leaving as quickly as he can, switching on the monitor when he gets back to the house. Franklyn is already whimpering, and seldom has Will heard an Omega sound more full of craving for their partner..

"That's right," Tobias purrs, sounding almost menacing, "open for me."

Will switches the monitor off, realizing that he's flushed and beaded with sweat. Hannibal is right, he needs to get his hormones balanced before he fucking implodes. At least Frederick comes up and shyly asks him if Freddie can come visit. Just the thought of her is enough to calm Will's libido, though it does nothing for the underlying territorial irritation. Still, Frederick wants her, and Will can't deny him without a good reason, and he doesn't have one. Freddie is obnoxious as hell, sure, but if she makes Frederick happy, Will can easily bear her company.

Once Will has given the plan his blessing, Hannibal drives Freddie over in the morning, looking like someone's mother as he makes sure that she has all of her things. Randall comes with her to see Peter, and Hannibal smells so good today that it's probably a bad idea, but Will invites him in for coffee anyway. It would be rude not to, and this way he has someone to talk to, instead of lurking around pretending not to be watching Freddie. He has seldom felt this territorial in his entire life, and it's a relief to listen intently to Hannibal's comments on the weather.

Freddie at least has the sense to look and smell as nonthreatening as possible. She keeps herself small, and speaks kindly and quietly to Will's clients. Apparently she has already apologized to Margot, since they're quite cordial, and not in that fakey nice-Omega way. Frederick greets her with a handshake, and she pulls him into a hug, holding him tightly and licking his cheek in front of god and everybody. He squirms a little, the soft, sweet scent of his delight perfuming the room. Hannibal smiles, and raises his cup to them in a toast.

"...Is it okay if we take the dogs for a walk?" Frederick asks, and Will smiles at him even as his instincts scream against letting any of his Omegas out of his sight.

"Of course it is," he says, and they make their escape. For a moment Will thinks that whatever is going to give has given, but Hannibal just puts a hand over his and emits incredibly soothing pheromones. Few people can modulate their scent so well, and Will is calm almost before he knows what's happening.

"Thanks," Will murmurs, and Hannibal smiles.

"You're more than welcome, Will," he says, and then excuses himself, since he has clients of his own to manage.

While Margot and Peter clean the kitchen, Will talks to Randall about his transfer. Sending a subordinate Alpha away to learn to live in a mostly-Alpha group is a typical thing to do, and Randall really does smell mostly Alpha these days. In a few months hardly anyone will be able to read him, and since that was the stated goal, Will is happy for him, and also deeply relieved to have only a little thread of territorial Alpha protectiveness to deal with.

During a pause in the practical discussion, Randall chuckles, studying Will's face. "Yes?" Will murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

"I was just thinking that I must smell pretty Alpha these days if you're not trying to wrap me up in cotton."

Will chuckles. "Yeah, it's true."

"Remember, you can't effectively take care of others if you don't take care of yourself, Will," Randall says.

"Who told you that?"

Randall smiles. "Hannibal did."


	37. Poor Hormonal Will Keeps It Together

Just when Will is starting to get anxious about Frederick and Lounds, they come back with dogs gamboling about their feet. Frederick is glowing, so Will doesn't have to murder Lounds. He offers her coffee instead, and lets her sit in his kitchen and put a casual hand on Frederick's neck any time she thinks no one is looking. Will would give her shit for that, but Frederick looks so goddamn happy that he doesn't have the heart. Instead, he just hovers around and tries to chaperone without looking like a chaperone. Freddie is onto him, of course, but for once she has the decency not to say anything, and when Frederick licks her cheek she blushes almost as red as her hair.

It's a relief when Hannibal shows up to collect Freddie, even if that means that Will has to smell him again. It has only been about ninety minutes, but the scent hits Will like it has been months, and he wants to just wrap himself up in it and roll around for a while. He settles for thanking Hannibal for being punctual, and assures him that his charge has not been tackled into the ground this time.

"I'm pleased to hear it," Hannibal says, with a fond smile for Will that makes him worry about melting into a puddle on the floor. 

He really, really needs to check his hormone levels, but for now he offers everyone another cup of coffee and concentrates on not pouncing on Hannibal like a particularly horny caveman. It really doesn't help that Will doesn't actually have a primary physician and will have to crawl into the Alpha clinic and see whoever is around to judge him for being a surrogate in semi-rut.

At least the next morning Frederick is careless enough to let the household get a glimpse of the truly impressive bite mark on his neck. It's bruised a dark purple, and is a very creditable piece of work for an Alpha raised to be ashamed of her instincts. Frederick is almost too pleased to be embarrassed, and it's really too bad that Franklyn isn't here to whisper with him and to squeal over what a perfect print of her teeth Lounds had left.

When Will checks in Franklyn and Tobias again, he hears a long, low groan from Tobias, and a helpless whimper from Franklyn. "P-please," he gasps, "please, please, Tobias, please!" 

Will takes a deep breath and stays on long enough to make sure that Franklyn is begging for more, not to stop, and then carefully shuts off the monitor and goes up to the office to take some tabs. The ubiquitous little red tablets are a short-acting, situational suppressant. They give him headaches and make him smell a little bit like metal, but they let him catch his breath and search for his actual suppressants. He has a vial of the prescription kind, and it's only about a month out of date. They'll delay his rut, but going for more than a couple of months is a one-way ticket to worse headaches, testicular pain, and worst of all, what medical texts call 'Alpha irritability' and Will thinks of as 'being a complete fucking asshole.'

Will's clients definitely notice that he has started suppressing, but they generally have the manners not to bring it up. Margot gets to, she's carrying his child, but otherwise everyone minds their own business. Except for Franklyn, but he's so sweet and pink and afterglowy that Will is able to be patient with him. Tobias, naturally, looks like a cat that has eaten an entire aviary of canaries, and Will is so happy for the smug bastard that it's hardly annoying at all.

Hannibal also says nothing about Will's suppressants when he drops Peter off to visit Randall, but he does say something, in a general way, about zinc supplements being good for headaches. Will is just glad that he can be around Hannibal without breaking a sweat, and that Hannibal understands his protective need to check on Randall's room and find it as comfortable and cozy as ever.

As the weather winds down toward winter proper, Will lays in some more firewood and shows Frederick how to split it when his urge to be useful gets the better of his aversion to being seen making mistakes. One of Freddie's visits overlaps with a lesson, and she's very helpful by simply being an Alpha who can't do the slightest bit better. She actually takes up the axe to prove it, and Frederick gets to correct her grip, which of course makes him feel better. He's starting to be a puffed up little martinet again, but as long as he's kind to the others, Will is glad to see it.

As always, Thanksgiving creeps up on Will despite all the warning he gets from society at large, but this year it's just as well. Hannibal invites them to join his household for the meal. Generally clients who have family go home, but this year Tobias's parents are in Europe and Franklyn is utterly fed up with his. Being around people who actually accept him as an Omega has made him realize just how unpleasant Froideveaux family dinners are. And this way he gets to stay with Tobias, the Freds get a visit, and Peter can see Randall. He'll be leaving Will's care in early December, and Will is fighting tooth and nail for him to have his own apartment, and not be placed in a halfway house that won't let him have Randall stay overnight.

When the time comes, Will brings food even though Hannibal's cooking will always be better. They have at least eleven adults to feed, and only that few because Margot is eating with the Bloom family this year, and Hannibal is far too polite to turn his nose up at Will's contributions, no matter what he thinks of them. Concentrating on getting pie crust exactly right helps to keep Will's nerves in check, and Franklyn and Peter form an excellent team of assistants.


	38. Thanksgiving

Will is so colossally hormonal these days that loading up is a nightmare. The food has to be exactly right and completely secure, and he has to keep from being a dick about it. He also has to keep himself from checking everyone's seat belts as is if they're small children, and not freak out about driving them, and with everything going on in his head, he's exhausted before they even get there, keeping a white-knuckle grip on himself. At least Peter is perfuming the van with his joy at getting to see Randall again. The scent soothes Will and makes him even more tense at the same time, because it makes his mission even more important.

When they finally arrive, Will feels like a sweaty, trembling wreck, and tries not to smell like one, too. His Omegas pile out of the car and Will is torn between leaping out to keep them safe, and staying where he is and catching his breath. He splits the difference, just taking a moment before joining the others and doing his best to look normal. The hardest part is when Hannibal comes out to greet them on a rush of warm air carrying his own scent and that of his cooking, both equally delectable. 

Will does his best not to sway on his feet. It helps that Randall comes out from behind Hannibal, his Alpha scent breaking in. For a moment Will's lizard brain is stupidly enraged, and then Peter is in Randall's arms and he can't be mad about anything, too happy for them. Hannibal catches his eye over their heads, and Will really hopes he's not blushing, and that his scent isn't too obvious.

"Good evening, Will," he says, and Will does his best to remember how words work.

"You too," he mumbles, and heads up the steps to join him, his clients following him.

For Will, Thanksgiving dinner is a haze of delicious food and his own pathetic attempts to be normal. He confines his remarks to the weather and how delicious and well-presented everything is. At least the bonding factor perfuming the air from Randall, Peter, and both Freds is soothing, and doesn't make his imminent rut feel any more imminent than it does already. Part of the general haze is coming from Stammets, of all fucking people. There's a very strange quality to it, but it's definitely mate-centered bonding factor, as is the dry, complex whiff coming off of Katherine Pimms, a Beta guest who is apparently one of Hannibal's trusted consultants on therapeutic touch. Clearly things have gone well beyond therapeutic, here. Really, if anyone has to get involved with Stammets's crazy ass, a Beta is probably the best choice.

Of course Dimmond is so obnoxious that Will ignores him as much as possible. It's no easy feat with all his posturing, since he's dynamically and intellectually insecure. Something about Will always brings it out in people. Will would feel bad for him if he wasn't trying so hard not to slam him to the floor and step on his throat. He's not one of those Alphas that can't stand being around their dynamic, but sometimes it seems like his dynamic can't stand him, and it always makes his teeth hurt. Abigail is friendly, but he doesn't get the full benefit of it, so zoned out on self-control. It's all he can do not to be rude to her by accident, and after dinner he turns into a completely stereotypical Alpha and passes out in a recliner in front of the football game.

Will wakes up completely disoriented, snorting and jerking himself to sit upright, arms flailing. Hannibal's scent wraps around him, calming him so completely that it's embarrassing. His hands are tangled in an incredibly soft blanket, and the living room is dim and deserted.

"Clients?" Will mumbles, and Hannibal smiles at him.

"They're in the kitchen," he says. "The general consensus was that you needed your rest, but shouldn't be forced to miss out on pie." 

He offers Will a hand up and Will takes it because doing otherwise would be weird. His brain mercilessly catalogs the exact size and shape of Hannibal's hand, the elegant bones and soft skin and Will really needs to get his shit together. He settles for following Hannibal to the kitchen and meekly submitting to pecan pie with homemade whipped cream. Hannibal plates it very artfully, and watches Will eat in a way that makes him feel hot all over.

The two inter-household couples have made the evening run quite late, so as soon as Will is finished he thanks Hannibal for having them, and accepts an armload of leftovers. "I want to see you well-fed," Hannibal says softly, and he has to know what that's doing to Will in his present state, but he looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Once they're home and Will has stashed the leftovers while his clients shuffle their way through preparing for bed, he leans against the side of the fridge and feels like weeping. He feels heavy and hot and achy in a way that would make him think he was getting sick if he didn't know better. He grimaces and scrubs a hand over his face, reminding himself very sternly that it will not do to cup his balls in the middle of the common area, even if they ache. Will does his best not to groan, and then jumps when his phone rings. He paws it out of his pocket, and feels a tremulous, weepy, grateful joy at the sight of Margot's number.

"Hello?" he says, glad that his voice sounds mostly normal.

"I figured I should check in," she says, and Will sighs.

"Please tell me all about how happy and comfortable you are so my head doesn't implode," he says, wandering out to sit on the edge of his bed. Margot laughs softly, and he can feel the sound relaxing him.

"I am happy and comfortable," she says. "Alana's family has been lovely to me, and they send their regards to you. Mr. Bloom even took us aside to congratulate us on having our baby with one of the only Alphas he would have trusted with the task." Mr. Bloom is a kind and intelligent Omega, and one of the old-fashioned, house-proud sort that Will has such a life-ruining soft spot for. Will has always been glad to have his good opinion, and now he has to rub at his teary eyes. 

"Tell him that means a lot to me, okay?" Will says, and Margot says that she will, her voice gentle and full of real fondness.


	39. 'Tis The Season

For Will, the descent into true winter this year is kind of a blur. He knows that he's doing all right because everyone looks and smells happy and healthy, but most days he has forgotten what they had for breakfast by the time lunch comes around. Will is profoundly grateful that Christmas is coming. 

Like schools, most therapeutic residences have time off for the winter holidays, so clients and surrogates alike can spend time with family. Will has a feeling that he'll need to make arrangements for anyone who doesn't want to do that this year, because if he doesn't let this rut happen before January, he is going to be all kinds of fucked up. He doesn't need a doctor to tell him that, but gets checked anyway. The doctor is a scowling Beta, incredulous and irritated that Will has let it go this long. He softens a bit when Will starts scrubbing at his eyes, which are welling up in hormonal guilt.

The doctor sighs, and puts a hand on his shoulder, radiating soothing pheromones at him. "There, there," he says, "it's not your fault that you're an idiot."

Will chuckles, and manages to get himself under control. He doesn't get to leave the office without giving his word of honor that he is going to go directly to the pharmacy for his short-term, extra-strength suppressants. Will keeps his word, and even if the headaches don't go away, he feels better after taking the first one. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, rolling his sweating water glass across his forehead. He's holed up in the office, and nearly jumps out of his skin at a light knock on the door.

"Will?" Franklyn's soft voice and sweet scent come curling through the cracks, and Will smiles, heaving himself to his feet and going to unlock the door. Franklyn looks up at him with big, dark eyes, and Will reminds himself not to gather Franklyn into his arms and breathe him in. Everyone looks more adorable with each passing day, and it's all Will can do not to get weird.

"Hey," Will says, with a smile that's probably too warm, "what's up?"

"Not much," Franklyn says, stepping inside, "but I thought I should check on you. You've been up here a long time."

Will chuckles. "I guess so. Thanks."

"Will," Franklyn says, "even I can smell that you're hanging by a thread. Are you really going to be okay?"

"Probably," Will says, because he tries to be honest. "I guess I get rut for Christmas this year. Don't worry, I'll find somewhere to put you if you don't want to go home."

Franklyn shakes his head. "No, I do want to go home. I have a few things to collect, and to say."

Will sincerely hopes that at least one of those things is a hearty 'fuck you' directed at his parents, but he doesn't want to pry, so he just nods. "Alana is gonna steal Margot away for Hanukkah and then keep her until everyone gets back from doing Christmas, Tobias is going home, and Peter might be in his own place." Peter has had his bags packed for days as Will finishes hammering everything out with the housing people, and Franklyn gives him a sympathetic look.

"You know I'm here if they dump any more forms on you, right?"

Will chuckles, patting Franklyn's shoulder. "I know," he says, ushering him out and locking the office behind them.

It's a good thing that Will is slightly more together now, because it's time to find a small gift for everyone before they scatter. He does this every year, and has a well-established policy. Everyone gets the same thing, and whatever it is should be consumable or small enough not to be a pain in the ass. This year the group is large and varied enough that Will would already have almost no idea what to give them even if his brain hadn't just spent weeks being boiled in hormones. In the end, he calls Hannibal for advice.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal says, sounding quietly delighted to hear from him. Will trembles at the sound of his voice and takes a long drink of water that doesn't do anything to cut down on the sudden roughness in his throat.

"Hey," Will says softly, hoping he's not too hoarse. "Got a minute?"

"I'm assisting Abigail with her homework, but she should be able to spare me for a moment. Won't you, dear?" he adds, and it's so maternal that Will almost doesn't bristle. He can dimly hear Abigail's chirp of assent, and then the quiet sounds of Hannibal standing and walking out of the room. "Now," he says softly, "what is it?"

Will chuckles, realizing that Hannibal is probably expecting him to ask for help through his rut. "I'm too brain-dead to figure out what to give everyone for Christmas this year," he says, "and you're better at this shit than I am."

Hannibal laughs. "How kind of you to say so," he says. "It's a difficult problem. Do you give everyone the same thing?"

"Yeah," Will says, and lays out his criteria as best he can. Hannibal listens, and makes several good suggestions. There are the obvious ones, like books and small jewelry, but he also has some excellent hookups for edible gift baskets. After talking them over for a few minutes, he sighs.

"Will?"

"Yes, Hannibal?"

"This may be obnoxiously forward of me, but I am qualified as a rut surrogate, should you need my help."

Will does his best not to burst into flame, jizz his pants, or fling the phone out the window in rage. It's hard to do none of these things, and he can't help a little strangled noise in his throat. "I can't say I'm not gonna be in rut over Christmas," he says at last, "but... I can't do that kind of surrogacy, Hannibal. Not from either side."

"I see," Hannibal says, and lets Will change the subject. He's grateful for that, soothed by talking about anything but his own condition. Listening to Hannibal's soft voice, Will can smell him in the air, a phantom scent conjured up by his own desire. This is going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.


	40. Departure

Even as addled and strung out as he currently is, Will manages to buy a small gift for everyone. Usually one only gives jewelry to an Omega that one has a romantic interest in, but that's real jewelry. This is just a set of half a dozen pendants, made of pretty tumbled rock. The whole thing is way too important to him, of course, but the Beta shopgirl is very patient with him, and when he finally has the right ones, after a solid hour of searching, she just giggles at his apology as she gift-wraps each little box.

"It's okay," she says, "helping a customer gets me out of organizing the electrical cords or whatever. Besides, it's sweet that you care so much." She flashes him a dazzling smile, and even though she's a Beta Will feels a silly surge of protectiveness. He knows that she can smell it, but her expression doesn't change. If anything it gets warmer, and when she wishes him a happy holiday at the end of the transaction, she seems to actually mean it.

Because Peter's bags are already packed, Will hands the gifts out as soon as he gets back to the house. Randall will have to get his later, the little hematite ingot resting in its box for the moment. The others gather around the fire like it really is Christmas morning, and open their little packages, smelling as sweet and welcoming for Will as they can. He feels a bit like he'd die if they didn't like their presents, but their pleasure in the pretty things is genuine. Margot's is crystal quartz, gleaming like diamond except for a few golden-brown inclusions that save it from perfection. He has a feeling that she understands, and kneels behind the couch to fasten the clasp for her and to incidentally bathe in her scent.

After a moment, Will is soothed enough to raise his head and accept everyone else's thanks, Tobias carefully fastening Franklyn's golden crystal around his neck while Frederick does the same for Peter. His is a gleam of forest green, where Tobias's is dark red and Frederick's pendant is the flashiest moonstone Will could find. The selections suit them, and Will is glad he took so much time over it. He has to take a deep breath to keep from getting weepy when they bring out their own small gifts for him. 

Will doesn't expect anything from his clients for Christmas, but often gets something. This year it's a little macrame bag from Peter, looped together with blue and green string. Inside is Margot's gift, a ring with a lock of her hair set in it. It would be too much if she was any other client, but as it is he knows that the ring will be a great comfort when she's miles away and his stupid body starts to pine. There's a book about boats from Frederick, Franklyn has of course gotten Will a membership to some kind of 'cheese of the month' club, and Tobias gives him a nice print of a soothing forest scene, which will fill the perennially blank spot over Will's bed.

"R-Randall, Randall s-said he h-had s-something, something for you," Peter says, and Will smiles, giving him a light half-scruff, hand resting more on his shoulder than his neck.

"I'll collect it when I drop his pendant off," Will says, and Peter smiles at him.

Even with Will's bond to Margot forcing a preference for her company, it's harder on him when Peter leaves than when Margot does. A large part of this is that Margot is definitely coming back. She has thoughtfully marked her return date on Will's desk calendar, and gives him a kiss on the cheek before going off with Alana, who Will has trusted and loved for years. When Peter leaves, it's in a government van to his new apartment complex, and Will has no idea when he'll see him again. 

Once the van is out of sight, Will sits down on the floor and weeps, face buried in his hands. The others have gone back upstairs to pack, and by the time they return, Will has mostly put his face back on, standing by the sink and washing the salt from his skin with a splash of cold water. He still feels miserable and shaky, but he can at least keep Tobias, Frederick, and Franklyn from worrying about him. Well, too much. Franklyn will always worry about him, it's just part of his general soft sweetness, one of the most charming things about him. Now Will is even more glad of it, because Franklyn hugs him tightly and stays by his side, helping him to cook dinner and not to feel stupidly alone while he does it.

That night Will takes him aside to thank him, and Franklyn just smiles sadly up at him. "You're welcome," he says. "You're always welcome." He presses a kiss to Will's cheek, wrapping him in a cloud of gentle, friendly scent.

Will doesn't sleep well, but it's better, thanks to Franklyn. He only wakes up to compulsively check everything and everyone in the house twice, not the five times it could be, and in the morning he's able to offer moral support and packing advice. His remaining clients are leaving in four days, and when the time comes Will is even able to drive them to the airport and not cry all over them. Frederick has no family he wants to see, but he's going with Franklyn for moral support.

"Even if I'm too fucked up to help you," Will says, pulling out two business cards with Bella's number scribbled on the backs, "you can call Bella if you feel unsafe or too unwelcome, okay?"

"Okay," Frederick says, taking the card and tucking it into his wallet. Franklyn does the same, and hugs Will tightly, standing there on the sidewalk by Departures for a long time.

"Take care of yourself," he says when he pulls away at last, and Will smiles.

"I will," he says, and hopes like hell that he isn't lying.


	41. On A Personal Basis

Will is alone for the next two weeks, and driving home to his empty house, he really hopes that he'll be able to keep it together. Without clients to distract him, he can feel the low fever of his rut, and the ache in his balls is definitely back. It's not sharp, he'd have to call a doctor if it was, but it's hardly pleasant, and by the time he gets the door shut behind him, his emotions certainly match. He's actually grateful to feel suddenly tired for no reason, because that gives him an excuse to collapse onto Margot's bed, burying his face in her pillow. When he wakes up, he realizes that he needs to strip her bed, the linens damp with thick, pheromone-laden sweat. A rutting Alpha's sweat is almost a syrup, to say nothing of the smell.

Standing by the washing machine, Will starts to cry again. He's still crying as he rubs his own knot in the shower, and his mood is not helped by how small and empty the orgasm feels. Will slumps to the floor of the shower and whimpers in misery, curling into a tight ball and letting the hot water sluice down over him until his skin is red. When he crawls out, he's on the verge of tears again, and he feels like his legs won't hold him until his work phone rings. And then he's up and snarling, grabbing for it. Will has warned them, goddammit, he's in no shape to do anything for anyone and if he has to be alone he doesn't want to be fucking bothered.

"Yes?" he snarls, syrupy sweat mixing with the water on his skin. He squirts a few drops of urine, and that does not improve his mood in the slightest. The person on the other end whines softly, an insinuating, placatory Omega sound that curls right around his entire brain, short-circuiting his wrath. "...H-Hannibal?" he whispers.

"Yes," Hannibal says, his voice soft and sweet in a way that Will has never heard it. Will whimpers before he can help it, sharp and strangled. His knees are weak, but he shuffles sideways to the kitchen because he's leaking again, and would rather do it on the tile. "Will, I'm offering you my help again. On a personal basis."

Will groans, and grips his cock with one hand before he can stop himself, sliding his hand down the length and collecting precome from the tip. "Please," he growls, and rubs his slick hand up the side of his neck to the bare skin behind his ear. The scientific term is 'self-anointing,' and even now Will thinks that it's gross, but he can't help it.

"I can be there in an hour," Hannibal says, a little breathless but very even. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes," Will growls. "Call me if it will be any longer."

"I will," Hannibal says, and lets out a barely audible whimper that makes Will's blood run even hotter. "Stay hydrated and keep breathing," he says. "I need to call my proxy to mind the house."

"Yes," Will says. "Okay." He hangs up, and tries to keep breathing.

Knowing that Hannibal is coming for him, Will's symptoms ratchet up even more. He runs the dogs in circles outside, shirtless in the snow, and finally takes them to the barn and makes sure that they're comfortable, with plenty of water and treats. He closes the door and goes back inside, where he texts Beverly, hands shaking. She has agreed to feed his dogs if he needs it, and he's definitely going to need it. She returns the message a minute later, leaving Will with fifteen minutes until Hannibal needs to at least call him.

Will is determined not to stink up the whole house, and ends up going around with a roll of bright blue electrical tape and marking things with Xs rather than peeing all over everything. He can't help losing a few droplets, but that's nothing compared to actual spraying. Xs on the walls, Xs on the cabinets, the bed, the ceiling, the floor: a frenzy of Xs. Will jumps when there's a knock on the door, and goes prowling toward it, tensed to fight until he smells Hannibal, and tenses in a completely different way.

When Will flings the door open, Hannibal startles a bit, but he seems calm. His eyes are a bit wide and very dilated, but he smiles at Will. "Good evening, Will," he says in that same soft, sweet voice. "May I come in?"

Will tries to speak and nothing comes out. He has to settle for stepping aside and letting Hannibal in, trembling from head to foot. Hannibal looks around, and smiles. "What a lovely, sensible way to fulfill your marking urge," he says, and Will whines, dropping to his knees and then crawling after Hannibal as he makes his leisurely way to the bed.

Hannibal sets his bag down on the floor and unbuttons his shirt, full of benign unconcern for the ravenous Alpha kneeling at his feet. Will whines and buries his face in Hannibal's ass, desperate for his scent. Hannibal chuckles, and lets him. Hannibal is about half in heat, a Will isn't sure if it's due to his age or simply where he is in his cycle, but it's enough, and he whimpers pathetically when Hannibal has to pull away to wriggle out of his pants. It only takes a few seconds, though, and Hannibal arranges himself on all fours on the bed, arching his back and sighing happily as he settles his chest on the sheet, resting his head on his arms.

"I'm wet enough and too old to breed," he says. "Come here."

Will does not need to be told twice. He scrambles up onto the bed and over Hannibal. Will usually likes to take his time and tease an Omega open, really learn their taste and scent and find just the right touches. Especially if it's the first time. But now he's in deep rut, and just crams himself into Hannibal with a high-pitched, ragged cry. Hannibal groans, the sound deep and shameless, and Will comes instantly, but that doesn't really matter. His knot is still only half inflated, and he bites onto Hannibal's shoulder and fucks him hard and fast. The bite doesn't do much to muffle Will's harsh, pained whimpers of desperation, and Hannibal doesn't even try to quiet his own luxuriant moans. He wallows happily in the sheet, taking everything Will has to give, aromatic slick dripping down to his knees and Will wants to lap it up but there's no way he can stop.


	42. Feast

Will clings to Hannibal, glad for the wiry breadth of him, arms locked tight around his waist, hands clutching at his chest. He tries not to hurt him, but he can't help digging his nails in between Hannibal's pectoral muscles, or biting his neck hard enough to keep him in place if someone tried to pull him away. Hannibal seems to have no complaints, just panting and groaning, reaching back to clutch at Will's ass, doing some painful scratching of his own. It only spurs Will on, as he fucks Hannibal hard against their incipient tie. He can feel his second orgasm approaching, and he actually starts to cry because this is so good and he hasn't tied anyone in so fucking long and he loves it. 

Some people don't like the vulnerability, and others don't like the feeling, but for Will nothing is better. To be locked inside someone else, kept so close and so safe, to feel them so completely. He can feel Hannibal's heartbeat in the slick, tight hole gripping him, and he groans, pushing as deep as he can get as he comes again. His knot swells and swells, and he has a flicker of worry for Hannibal, because not everyone can handle Will's knot at full expansion, and it feels like it's getting bigger than ever now, driven by his long-neglected rut. Hannibal just moans, though, a low, guttural sound of utter contentment, wrapped around him almost tight enough to hurt. 

Will whimpers happily, rolling them both to the side and nuzzling into the nape of Hannibal's neck, breathing him in until he can't smell anything else. He'll want more soon, but for the moment he is utterly content. Hannibal smells like pleasure and bonding factor and all kinds of delectably subtle and mature notes, oak and ambergris and vinter’s must. Will hums tunelessly, burying his face in Hannibal's skin and really figuring him out. His hands start to rub slow, hard circles on Hannibal's chest and belly, reveling in his smooth skin and the delicately coarse hair.

"Better?" Hannibal asks, and Will chuckles against his back.

"Yes sir, thank you, sir," he says, and Hannibal growls, tightening around him. Will shudders and bites his neck, holding on for a long time. He finally has to let go because it's getting hard to breathe through his nose. "...Get me a tissue?" he asks, and Hannibal chuckles, reaching out to pluck a few from the bedside table so Will can wipe his eyes and blow his nose. 

Crying is probably one of the less embarrassing ways a rutting Alpha's feelings can overwhelm them, and he's able to toss the wad neatly into the trash afterward, so he'll call it a win. He hides his face in Hannibal's upper back and just breathes with him for a long time, as Hannibal reaches back to pat Will's ass and thighs, in a vague, loving way. Will purrs and actually dozes off for a few minutes. His own instinctive thrusting wakes him up, and Hannibal is panting softly, locking muscle slowly melting around him again to let his knot slide in and out.

"I w-would like to be face-to-face," Hannibal whispers, "if you wouldn't m-mind..."

Will laughs, pulling out so that Hannibal can shift to face him, those amber eyes feverishly bright. His pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed, his scent richer than ever as it pours over Will. He shudders and gets his hand under Hannibal's knee, putting it over his own hip as he lines up and pushes into Hannibal again. That sleek Omega cock twitches, releasing a little spurt of slick onto Hannibal's belly. Will runs his thumb through it and then brings it to his mouth, moaning as he sucks it off of his own salty skin. 

Hannibal whines, clenching hard around him, his rapid heartbeat pulsing on Will's knot. He clutches at Will's hair with both hands, kissing him hungrily, and Will falls into it, groaning and rolling Hannibal onto his back. There's something delightful in such purposeful movement, after so much trembling and holding himself still. He grins down at Hannibal as he whimpers, smelling closer to really being in heat than ever. Will gazes deep into his glazed eyes, delighted not to be the most wrecked person in the room anymore. He licks his way into Hannibal's mouth with the kind of sloppy kiss he doesn't really like out of season and fucks him deep and slow, controlled for the first time in more than a month. 

His hand is on Hannibal's throat before he can stop himself, but Hannibal presses into it, his slick pouring over both of them as his nails dig into Will's back. Will covers him with kisses, keeping his grip light and caressing, stroking Hannibal's pulse and breath rather than squeezing it. He doesn't want to hurt him, he wants to hold him, to keep him here and climb inside him, and when he starts actually saying that out loud, Hannibal whines sharply and locks onto Will, his eyes fluttering shut as Will shudders and groans, coming inside him again. Hannibal mewls, his hands trembling as they guide Will's head down to rest on his chest.

"There," Hannibal murmurs, running his fingertips through Will's hair, "that's better." Will laughs, feeling on the verge of tears again. He kisses Hannibal's throat instead, sighing through his nose. Hannibal purrs, and rubs Will's back. Will can feel the touch smearing small droplets of blood, and he moans, opening his eyes again to watch Hannibal lazily lick the red traces from his long fingers.

"Fuck," Will whimpers, and Hannibal chuckles, pulling him up to kiss him again. Will purrs into his mouth, writhing a little against Hannibal and glorying in every inch of contact. He can't help a soft moan at how good it is just to lie here with Hannibal, tied, their heartbeats settling into the same rhythm, and Hannibal presses another kiss to the top of his head.

"Sweet boy," he purrs, and Will whimpers, ferocity melted completely in Hannibal's arms.


	43. Desperate Measures

Will falls into a pattern of napping while tied with Hannibal, and waking up only to knot him again. Will is pretty sure that he's past being embarrassed, but when he wakes up in a sheet sling, still tied to Hannibal and held close to his back as he waddles through preparing a smoothie for them to share, he feels like he really shouldn't be. On the other hand, each tiny movement squeezes and pulls at Will's knot, and he's panting softly before he's even aware of it, squirming a little in his folded and refolded sheet.

"...Is this actually happening?" Will mutters, and Hannibal chuckles.

"Back with me, I see. It's not priapism yet, but your knot seems very reluctant to go down this time and I can't let us die of thirst while we wait."

"You w-walking, walking okay? Oh fuck..." Will breathes as Hannibal bends forward to dump vegetable peelings into the trash. Will makes a strangled noise and clutches at Hannibal as he freezes in place, trembling as Will's hips thrust and grind into him without any input from Will's brain. "Ohh..." Will gasps, and Hannibal makes a desperate little mewling noise.

"H-hopefully we'll be back in bed soon," Hannibal gasps, and straightens up again.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Will whispers into Hannibal's ear, and then moans because laughing at that makes Hannibal tighten up around him.

"Positively recockulous," he agrees, and Will laughs, the sound more than a little strangled and desperate. He clings to Hannibal as he shuffles over to the blender.

"That was fucking terrible," Will mutters, and he can hear Hannibal grinning.

"Don't tempt me to make another, then," he says, and then puts an end to conversation for the moment by switching on the blender. 

Will hates the noise so much that he hardly uses the fucking thing, and makes a dismal noise, hiding his face in Hannibal's hair. It's over soon, though, and Hannibal is shuffling back to the bed, carrying the big travel cup that came with the blender. Will has never used it, but now it's full of green smoothie, and Hannibal is adamant about making him drink it.

"You're lucky you're pretty," Will growls, and waits for Hannibal slop enough lube onto them for Will to twist around to be chest to chest without hurting either of them. On a long tie like this, most Omegas start to dry up, and both of them hiss at the turning and tugging, even with the extra lube.

"You're l-lucky, lucky I'm a size queen," Hannibal pants, and moans softly as Will makes a final effort, heaving Hannibal up onto his lap as he sits up. 

Now that they're vertical and reasonably comfortable, Will can drink the hideous green brew when Hannibal feeds it to him, cooing gentle praise. Will supposes it could be worse, and sucks down more than half of it before Hannibal takes a swig of his own. Will's eyes fill with tears and he whines, hiding his face in Hannibal's chest, filled with deep and sudden guilt for not taking proper care of his Omega. It's totally hormonal, since he and Hannibal have agreed that he's the one who needs help here, but Will still struggles to take deep, even breaths. Hannibal drains the cup and sets it aside to rub Will's back and nuzzle his hair. He murmurs reassuringly to Will about how much he enjoys taking care of him, and that everything is okay until everything actually is okay, and Will can tip him onto his back and relax in his arms.

Just when Will is afraid they'll have to call a doctor, he finally goes down enough for Hannibal to easily push him out. Some totally irrational part of him is displeased, but the rest of him is very sore and has to pee. He shuffles to the bathroom and back as fast as he can. Hannibal has just finished making the bed with fresh sheets, and he shivers at the sight of Will, a very agreeable wave of pheromones wafting out to him. Will plows into his arms and clings, sticking to Hannibal as he turns down the covers and eases them into the bed like proper human beings. Will cuddles as close as he can and dozes off again.

In between fucking and resting up for more, Will occasionally checks his phone, where Beverly is texting him once per day to report that the dogs are still alive and not too bored yet, and Margot is sending him dispatches from the field. Even in the middle of taking his rut out on Hannibal, Will is eased to hear from Margot. Hannibal is very understanding about it, and is getting his own pipeline of food porn from Alana, as well as reports from his proxy, Bedelia. Most of Hannibal's clientele has nowhere to go for the holidays, and just stay with him.

"I left Christmas dinner in advance," Hannibal explains, sprawled next to Will in all his naked glory, scrolling down to Bedelia's number, "but I still have some coaching to do."

It's hard for Will to keep his hands to himself, but another wave of hormones is hitting him, and he knows that right now he can't just hold Hannibal and patiently not fuck him or even feel him up that much. He has to settle for stretching out on his back and squeezing his knot as Hannibal gives Bedelia a time-table for the various dishes, explains how best to stuff a turkey, and reminds her that Peter can't drive, so that if he accepts Randall's invitation, she'll have to pick him up if all the official transports are taken. Will squirms, delighted on a very deep level to hear Hannibal express so much interest in making sure that Peter has a good Christmas.

Naturally, Will's sudden case of the warm fuzzies does nothing to keep him from pouncing on Hannibal the second he ends the call. Hannibal laughs and kisses him, moaning into Will's mouth as he pushes into him, knot half up already. When Will bites his neck and holds on, Hannibal wails, the sound shivering its way down Will's spine as he does his best to fuck another one out of Hannibal.


	44. Careful Stages

Will realizes that it's over when he wakes up and can think straight. Hannibal still smells amazing, but it's not grabbing Will by the brain stem anymore, and there's room to think of his dogs, and to miss them. Of course, Hannibal is still in quasi-heat, and the thought of leaving him alone for more than a minute at a time makes Will feel like an asshole. When he says so, Hannibal laughs, and Will shudders all over because they're still tied and the laughter feels incredible.

In the end, they compromise. Hannibal lets Will set him up on the couch with a weighted blanket, a warming drink, and a documentary about the history of the lute that Tobias has left behind over the break. After apologizing at least six times and giving Hannibal twice as many kisses, Will finally goes to check on the dogs.

The pack is ecstatic to see Will, and the feeling is mutual. He pets everyone and checks their eyes and ears before leading them out for a run. He can't bear to stay gone for long, but they manage one of the smaller loops, and Will makes sure to cuddle everyone, make sure they have plenty of water, and give them a treat before bolting back to Hannibal in a sudden panic.

Hannibal looks around when Will charges in, smiling softly at him. "I'm all right," he says, and opens up the weighted blanket for Will to join him. Will crawls into his lap and cuddles in against Hannibal's chest as he skips back over the scene that Will distracted him from. It's something about the changes to the instrument that occurred during the Renaissance, and Will just closes his eyes and rests against Hannibal's heartbeat, a little shocked at how hard it was to leave him.

"Poor thing," Hannibal murmurs, and kisses the top of Will's head. "You're such a good Alpha."

"I'm used to feeling like this when my partner is in full heat," Will mutters, "but you're only about half on."

"You have been under a great deal of emotional strain, Will. It is not so unusual."

"Guess not," he mumbles, and subsides for a while, listening to the documentary and wondering how his clients are doing. "I should make some calls," he says at last, still muffled by Hannibal's skin.

"You should," he says. "And so should I."

"That would mean letting go of you," Will mutters, and Hannibal laughs softly, kissing the top of his head.

"We can take it in careful stages," he says, and Will smiles, burying his face in Hannibal's neck and breathing in his scent.

They do take it in careful stages. It takes three days to be sure that Hannibal is on an even keel and to take off all those tape Xs, some of which do strip the paint. The process isn't helped at all by all the heavy-duty descenting they have to do, or by their last few ties as the hormones ebb. Every time they know they'll just have to do even more descenting, but Will can't quite help it. Hannibal still needs him, and he's always the one to say that it's fine, they can take care of the smell later, as he bears Hannibal down to the floor or to the bed or up against the wall. Hannibal is taking drugs to dry up, but they take a few days to kick in, and he is very appreciative of Will's services.

By the time Hannibal's pills have kicked in and he feels truly steady, there's not much left to be done to the house but to spray around more descenter and to bring the poor dogs back from exile. They are of course thrilled to rejoin Will, and gambol around his feet like puppies. It's cold out, but Will takes them for a walk anyway. It's practice for Hannibal leaving. It will be hard to let him go even though they both have responsibilities, and Will is grateful to come home to him after the dogs have ranged all over the property to sniff, chase, and mark all the things they've missed lately.

The house is filled with the smell and the sizzle of good beef, and Will's mouth waters. Rut always leaves people craving animal protein, and Will's whole body fills with warmth at the thought of his Omega, his Hannibal, waiting here to feed everyone. The reality is even better than Will could have thought, and his jaw actually drops when he gets into the kitchen and sees Hannibal. Will left him naked, and the only change he has made is to put on Will's FISHERMAN AT WORK apron. He gives Will a demure smile and tells him that dinner is on the table.

The dogs are beside themselves with joy, scarfing down freshly sauteed gristle as Will sits down to a perfect steak. When he gets hormonal he likes his meat closer to rare, and Hannibal has found the perfect stopping point. Hannibal's own steak is blue rare, of course. He explains the presence of such excellent meat as he cuts into bloody little pieces, and the imported cheese and the figs. He actually brought a cooler with him, and snuck out of bed during one of Will's sex comas to transfer everything from his car to the fridge.

"It was quite an adventure," he says, his eyes sparkling. He nibbles a little tidbit of his meat and Will suddenly wants him again, a powerful surge of desire that leaves him completely exasperated with himself. Hannibal's eyes widen, and he blushes, squirming a little in his seat. "We can't," Will tells him, "not after all the descenting we've done."

Hannibal sighs. "You are right, of course." He looks around at the house. "You rut was getting dangerous, but I am going to miss having an excuse to do nothing but tie with you."

Will has to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, nearly choking on his sheer gratitude that this whole thing has been on a personal basis. "I... I'm glad you like me enough to want to do this." He risks a glance up at Hannibal, whose smile lights up his whole face, softening the severity of its lines.

"I am enraptured by you, Will," he says, "and I don't see that changing any time soon."


	45. Baths And Messages

To prove to themselves that they are real adults, Will and Hannibal bathe together before Hannibal leaves. Will has an actual, proper tub, even if just barely fits the two of them and a little water. In what space they have, they make a serious effort to groom one another with no funny business. It helps that they're so tired. Will is worn out enough that Hannibal's fingers on his sore knot are just pleasant, more like a back rub than anything definitely sexual. He lounges against the end of the tub with his eyes closed, enjoying it.

"Poor thing," Hannibal croons, and Will chuckles.

"I was so raw after Margot, this is nothing." He lets out a soft moan as Hannibal gently digs his fingertips into the line where Will's knot joins his body, that tiny, sore patch of skin that feels so good when Hannibal touches it like this. Will can't get hard when he's this exhausted, but there's a little twinge there. "Ohhh..." Will bites his lip and sinks a little deeper into the water. Hannibal smiles, exploring the whole circumference with the gentle pads of his long fingers.

"I'm so glad Margot had you to help her," Hannibal says softly, and then sighs. "We're going to need to put some cream on this."

"What about you?" Will says, feeling like a bad Alpha for only asking now.

"Just a bit sore," he says, and cuddles into Will's arms, resting his head on his shoulder. "I have always been fond of large knots."

Will can feel himself blushing, and turns his head to kiss Hannibal's forehead. "I was a little worried," he murmurs, "since being in rut makes it so much bigger."

"So much the better, for me," Hannibal says, chuckling, and slides one leg between Will's in a way that's just intimate because they're too burnt out for it to be sexual. "We should do this again some time," he murmurs, and kisses Will's neck. "But don't wait so long."

"I've heard that I'm terrible at taking care of myself," Will mutters, and he can feel Hannibal's smile against his neck.

"I hope to be allowed to assist you in the future," he says, and Will shivers, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat. He holds onto Hannibal very tightly, and Hannibal just makes a quiet, happy noise and lets him. They stay that way until the water starts to cool, and even then it's Hannibal who insists on both of them standing up and moving separately and even looking for their clothes, the ultimate atrocity.

Will reluctantly puts on a pair of jeans, and then hangs onto Hannibal as he collects his things, washing out the small cooler, doing his laundry and brushing his teeth. The whole time, Will's arms are gently looped around Hannibal's waist, and it gets more than ridiculous more than once, especially with all the dogs following Will, turning it into a parade. Hannibal bears with them very well, and even strokes his hair and tells him what a good and beautiful Alpha he is. 

The compliments make Will purr, and he's still holding Hannibal when he settles on the couch to call his proxy and make sure that his clients are all right. Even during an intense heat, Bedelia would have called him for a real emergency, but being a good surrogate, he worries. Will needs to check on his own people, but for now he just dozes against Hannibal, too tired to worry. Hannibal pets him as he asks about each of his clients, rolling his eyes to hear that Dimmond has been very territorial and sulky. Will growls, top lip curling back from his teeth. He may be out of rut, but he's not back to baseline quite yet, and the thought of anyone else acting like Hannibal belongs to them makes him want to bite. 

Hannibal chuckles, and rubs his back "It's all right, Will," he murmurs, before going back to Bedelia to make sure that Stammets has been taking his medication.

By the time Hannibal is off the phone, Will is sitting up and finding his own. There are a ton of voice messages and texts, and Will goes through them all as Hannibal putters around, making sure that the house is in the best order they can manage. Beverly has left Will a great deal of friendly encouragement and animal memes, and there are updates from all of his clients. He reads Margot's first, suddenly desperate for her. Their bond always hits him at the most unexpected times, and he is very glad to read her messages about how kind the Blooms are to her and that her morning sickness has eased. Her pictures show that she's getting that lovely hormonal glow of a pregnant Omega, her flat belly just beginning to round out.

Along with Margot's messages and pictures are some from Alana, who is touchingly specific about how healthy and safe she has been keeping Margot, because she knows Will worries. Once Will has assured himself that the Omega carrying his child is safe and happy, tension goes out of his muscles that he didn't even know they were holding, and he sighs, stretching out on the couch.

"Good news?" Hannibal murmurs, and Will chuckles.

"Yeah," he says, and raises up a little as Hannibal comes to join him, shifting Will's head into his lap while he checks the rest of his messages. 

There's only two from Tobias, one informing Will that he has safely arrived, and another saying that his parents are more understanding than he had realized, and wishing Will a merry Christmas. Franklyn and Frederick have both sent several long messages, and Will grimaces, unsurprised to see Franklyn's neurosis on full display. Just as the guilt for not being there for him when these were sent is getting really unbearable, he gets to the last one, which is a delighted and vague description of Frederick making Franklyn's parents, grandmother, and uncle all shut up. Frederick's messages are almost are part of the same furious rant, and Will smiles as he scrolls through them. It's as if Franklyn brought a trained attack terrier home with him, and the thought warms Will's heart.

"Remember how I was worried about Franklyn being around his family?" Will says, and Hannibal nods. "I'm not worried anymore," he says, and Hannibal laughs.


	46. More Messages

Will can see Hannibal's desperation to go check on his own precious clients rising, but he stays close by for another day and a half. Will usually hates to be fussed over or waited on, but it's okay when Hannibal does it. He lets himself sink into his armchair and the bed by turns and receive warming drinks, backrubs, and the carefully platonic application of medicinal salve every few hours. 

All the while, Hannibal checks his phone more and more often. He does his best to keep it unobtrusive and to act like he's in no hurry, but Will can't miss it, and on the second morning he reels Hannibal in with one arm and coaxes him into his lap, nuzzling into his hair and breathing in that musky scent, a little muted and ashy after running through a heat, but sweeter than before with satisfaction.

"Hannibal," he says softly, "you are a professional Omega surrogate, and you care about your clients. Go to them."

"I care about you as well," Hannibal murmurs, turning to press his face to the scent-heavy skin behind Will's ear, "and I want to drown myself in your scent."

"I'll give you some to take with you," Will says, and Hannibal shivers happily and thanks him, still nuzzling.

There are a lot of ways to send your scent with someone when they leave, and Will combines a few of them. First, he digs through his neglected laundry to find two shirts that are just musky and not actually vile, and stuffs them into a scent-proof bag. That's the easiest, and Hannibal can wear them to sleep in. He also makes several scent cards, and carefully boxes up a lock of hair and a piss-dampened washcloth.

Hannibal doesn't need to do as much to leave Will with plenty of his scent, since it's Will's house and Will's sheets, but after Will comes back from loading these keepsakes into Hannibal's car, he finds Hannibal neatly folding pairs of underwear on the bed. There's something coy about the way he does it, and Will smiles, watching him.

"Leaving me more scent?" he asks, and Hannibal blushes, the very image of the classic Bashful Omega. Will isn't sure he buys it for a second, but it's cute. "Thank you," he says, wrapping his arms around Hannibal's waist and nuzzling him behind one ear.

"You deserve nothing but the best, Will," Hannibal says softly, leaning back into him. Will chuckles, and kisses his neck, glorying in the soft, satisfied smell of an Omega after a good heat.

"In that case," he murmurs, "I have it." 

Hannibal shivers and pulls away, but it's just the same impulse both of them are fighting, to just laze around and explore each other slowly now that the hormones have leveled out. There's no time for that shit, though. Hannibal needs to get back to his clients and Will needs to make a last pass over the house to get ready for his. They still take about half an hour to make their way to the door, and Hannibal's eyes fill with tears when he steps out onto the porch. He takes a deep breath and gets himself under control, just kissing Will's hand one last time. He holds himself at arm's length, and smiles. It's like some snapshot from the golden age of Hollywood, and it's all Will can do to take his shirtless self back inside, rather than standing there and steaming in the cold until Hannibal is out of sight.

It feels like it should be hard to sleep alone, but as soon as Will has taken care of the dogs he drops right off, rolled up in the clean bedding with Hannibal's filthy briefs around one wrist. He drops into Hannibal-scented dreams and stays there until Buster has to dig him up to demand breakfast at one pm. Will lurches up aching and desperate to piss, but once that's taken care of, he feels pretty good. He feeds the dogs and puts on a pot of coffee, and checks his messages. Hannibal hopes that Will slept well and would appreciate a call whenever convenient, Margot is packing for her return, Franklyn and Frederick are holed up in a hotel spa but seem quite satisfied with it; and Tobias is feeling a great many feelings, which is of course upsetting for a person like him. Randall and Peter just each wish Will a Merry Christmas and a hormonally-balanced New Year. Will smiles, and replies to each of his precious Omegas before he calls the Bureau to let them know that he's actually human again.

By the time Will has finished his messages and his coffee, he's even fit to drag himself to the store and do some badly-needed resupplying. It's nice to be out in public and only as on edge as is normal for him. He can smell other Alphas without wanting to fight them, and Omegas without wanting to rush up to total strangers and swathe them in blankets. Walking the aisles, Will starts to really register just how long and how deeply he had been fucked up, and even smiles at a few people, incapable of the usual surliness the glare and the crowd gives him. He's still glad to get away, though, and to get back out to his little house to put hours into making everything right again.

As a kindness to Will, everyone is worrying about their own transportation from the airport back to him. In its own way it makes him worry more, but it is less to do. He ends up filling the last few days of his break with home repair and cooking, like he hopes that Hannibal's domestic talents have rubbed off on him. Whether they have or not, the place is at least warm and perfumed with homey food smells instead of the reek of stale rutting. He hopes, anyway, fussing through his empty rooms. Through it all, Hannibal maintains a soothing presence. He calls him every day, and talks him to sleep on more than one night.


	47. Reunion

Of all Will's Omegas, Margot is due back first, and when the wait gets to him he puts on the ring with her hair, reminding himself again and again that while he might feel a bond, he can't afford to cling. Still, he almost leaps out of his chair when his phone rings, and is stupidly delighted to hear her voice.

"Happy New Year, Will," she says, since the turning of the year has already slipped by. He never does much for it, anyway. "We're on the ground and should be there within the hour."

Will wishes she could be more precise, but he understands about the circuitous rural route with its strange surges and lulls of traffic. As it is, he just waits for them, warming a pie when Margot calls to say they're about ten minutes away. She has apparently managed to avoid almost all morning sickness so far, and is more hungry than anything. It probably has something to do with the HI-96, and with being underweight at the time of conception. It's entirely possible that Margot's poor skinny body simply can't afford morning sickness, and by the time she comes through the door Will is heating soup to go with the pie, chiding himself for even thinking to offer nothing but sugar.

Margot comes glowing out of the cold and Will is wrapped around her before she can even get her coat off. She laughs, and nuzzles in against his neck, carefully rubbing her scent onto him. "You look and smell better," she mumbles at last, muffled in his shoulder.

"Good," he mumbles back. "You look good."

"That's because I have Alana taking care of me," she coos, and before Will can think better of it, she opens her arm to drag Alana into the hug as well. 

It's clumsy and too warm, and before long they have to break off to hang up coats, slip out of boots, and of course, to pet each and every one of the joyous dogs. Margot's weight gain is barely noticeable, but she looks softer, more rounded, and more content. Her hair and nails are glossy with health, and now she really does smell like not quite sugared violets. Will basks in the scent after Alana insists that he and Margot sit on the couch and let her serve the food. He's trying not to be obnoxious, but Margot just giggles and climbs into his lap.

"I missed you too," she says, and kisses his cheek.

While they eat, Will listens far more than he talks, curious to hear all about the Bloom family's holidays. The concept of family may be a strange one to him, but the concept of Alana's family specifically is sort of homey and comfortable. Her brothers were delighted to meet Margot, of course, because Margot is delightful. They both giggle when Will says so, and Margot kisses his cheek.

Much later Alana makes vague noises about pushing on to her own house, but it doesn't take much persuasion to get them to stay the night. Will would be happy enough with both of them under his roof and the protection of himself and his dogs, however silly that idea may be, but they both sleep in his bed, as well. Everyone stays fully clothed and just basks in the warmth and security as they slowly drift downward, to the sound of breathing dogs. The others are due back tomorrow, but for now Will just holds Margot and Alana, soothed on a lizard brain level.

In the morning, Will's phone wakes him but not the others, and he sits up to answer it quietly, Margot's legs still tangled with his. "Yes?" he murmurs, and Frederick chuckles into his ear.

"Good morning, Will," he says, and there's a blurred, "Hi!" in the background that sounds like Franklyn.

Will smiles. "Good morning. Where are you?"

"About two hours out. Take deep breaths."

Will grimaces, his face going hot. "I've worked it out, I swear."

"Delightful, you'll be able to appreciate it when we tell you all about our holidays."

Will looks forward to it, and is grateful for his newly-restored ability to do anything in this situation but freak out about plane crashes. As it is, he gets up and makes coffee while he feeds the dogs. The scent draws Alana out of bed, and she gets to work on breakfast for everyone. Really for Margot, but there's no sense in not joining her. The meal ends up so long and so leisurely that they're still nibbling when Frederick and Franklyn arrive, breathless and happy. The second they're settled, Franklyn demands a re-enactment of Christmas dinner, and Frederick is more than happy to provide it.

It always does Will's heart good to hear people get a good dressing down for treating Omegas poorly, and that's only more true when the Omega is a member of their own family. Franklyn makes joyful little noises and puts in corrections and additions as Frederick lays out his compelling and viciously-delivered points about the increasing Alpha and Omega birthrate, the importance of olfactory function, and their own disgraceful conduct toward Franklyn. Alana and Margot both applaud at the conclusion, and Frederick manages to lap it up without being obnoxious, a development that nearly brings a tear to Will's eye.

Margot and Alana are going to leave in the evening, but they spend the day with Will and his clients, walking dogs, having a brief snowball fight, and congratulating Franklyn again and again on finally being able to make his feelings clear and to rescue all of his personal effects that had remained at his parents's house. They're also here to welcome Tobias when he arrives in the late afternoon, and it's another beautiful sign of progress that he smells only _slightly_ acrid at the way Franklyn keeps beaming at Frederick. Will does his best not to laugh, and loosely scruffs Tobias for a moment, smiling up at him.

"Welcome back," he says, and Tobias smiles, letting Franklyn pull him away as the re-enactment begins again. Will slips into another room to text Randall and Peter, and then to call Hannibal just to hear his voice.


End file.
